


Worth Fighting For

by TheMockingJ3



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, Incomplete Whumptober 2019, More characters to be added, Professor Layton Oneshots, Professor Layton Whumptober, Though I may go back and add the other prompts later, Warning tags before each chapter, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, oneshots, spoilers for the entire series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 22,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingJ3/pseuds/TheMockingJ3
Summary: Professor Layton oneshots for Whumptober 2019.Prompt: Ransom (Desmond and Raymond)Not for the first time, Raymond needs to save his archaeology nerd son.





	1. Shaky Hands (Bruno & Flora)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: The general effects of old age  
Spoilers: For Curious Village and maybe Layton's Mystery Journey  
Set: During the LMJ years  
Song: Dead Hearts by Stars

“It’s always... the butler,” Bruno grunted, heaving Matthew onto a stool in the tower’s basement. 

Matthew didn’t dispute this accusation- not that he would have if he was awake- but flopped lifelessly onto the work table. 

Bruno stood up, cracking the joints in his back. Maybe he should’ve taken up Ramon's offer to move Matthew to the tower... 

_Hrmph._ That layabout would’ve gotten lost on his way here. Then Bruno would’ve had _two _missing servants on his hands, and Lady Dahlia breathing down his neck... 

She’d demanded that Matthew be mended in time for Flora’s visit. 

Flora, now thirty years of age, understood that the robots were getting older (Matthew being the oldest) so that meant more repairs. 

Bruno hadn’t bothered trying to explain this Dahlia. 

“Oh, you’re just not working _fast _enough!” Bruno mimicked her in a snooty voice. “Perhaps it’s time we employed a new caretaker... _Phah!”_ He glanced down at Matthew. “How _do_ you put up with Her Royal Bossiness?” 

Matthew’s head remained bowed over the table.

“...Probably like that,” Bruno grumbled as he went to grab Matthew’s key from the gallery wall. 

It was by far the rustiest key and the brittlest. Of course, Bruno ended up dropping it. 

He cursed and crouched down...a _long _way down... to pick it up. He brought the key up to his eyes, trying to keep it still. He squinted.

Didn’t look damaged... 

He shrugged and shuffled back to Matthew, opening the hatch on his back. 

Just as he pulled up a stool of his own, Bruno realised he’d forgotten his toolbox. He groaned and turned. The toolbox was on the other side of the basement, taunting him. 

He got up and dragged it over to the work table. 

Armed with his torch and trusty screwdriver, Bruno started to inspect Matthew’s inner workings...

_“Bruno?” _The shout echoed down the basement stairs. 

_“GRMPH!” _Bruno almost fell off his stool. His tools went flying. It was a miracle Matthew didn’t stir with all the racket. 

Bruno stooped down to retrieve his tools. Hearing heels on the stairs, he barked over his shoulder, “Didn’t I programme you to _wait?” _

“Didn’t I tell you to _fix the lights_ in here?” his visitor retorted.

He did a double take when he saw it was_ Flora _tapping her foot at the bottom of the stairs. His frown vanished under his beard.

“Oh... Sorry. You sounded like Dalia for a moment there...” 

Flora pulled a face. (Lord, she even _looked_ like Dahlia sometimes...) “Gee,_ thanks,” _Flora drawled. “Hope I didn’t scare you too much...” 

She helped him tidy up the tools. “How’s Matthew doing?” she wondered, knocking her old butler on the head. She winced at the hollow noise he made. “Ouch- sounds like he’s lost a lot of cogs...”

“Ah, great...” Bruno rubbed his temples. “Now I’ll have to search for them all...” He glanced at Flora sharply, eyebrows raised. “Speaking of which-“

“No,” she answered flatly. “There’s no news.”

“Right...”

They worked in silence for a while; Flora held the torch while Bruno prodded at the few cogs Matthew had left. 

Bruno was the one to break the silence. “How’re the, er, nippers doing?”

Much to his relief, Flora chuckled. “They’re not nippers anymore. Al’s twenty-one, surviving uni by the skin of his teeth. Kat’s thirteen...” 

Bruno grimaced. He’d never understood Professor Layton’s decision to adopt _two _more kids. Wasn’t Flora enough? 

Flora went on, “...She’s already set on becoming a detective...”

“Wha...?” Bruno said. He’d zoned out there for a second. 

“Kat wants to be a detective, just like her dad,” Flora repeated tensely.

Bruno blinked. Oh- this was the part where Bruno was meant to console her. He clicked his tongue. “Teenagers, eh?” Flora nodded, biting her lip.

Bruno took her hand with a sigh. 

She felt him shaking, but it stopped for a moment when she squeezed his hand. 

“Come on then,” she sighed, pulling Bruno to his feet. “Let’s find those missing cogs and finish fixing Matthew.”

“Before Dahlia blows a fuse,” Bruno added. 

Flora laughed. Maybe Bruno’s eyes were going, but he could have sworn the basement got a little bit brighter. 


	2. Explosion (Claire, Dimitri & Bill)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the days for Claire to be late…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Explosion, as the title implies, and major character death  
Spoilers: For Lost Future  
Set: An AU of a flashback scene from Lost Future  
Song: Broken by Lifehouse

Of all the days for Claire to be late…

In her defence, she had presented Hershel with his new top hat- and then he had _proposed!_

Claire was ecstatic and completely caught off guard. The two of them had discussed their plans for the future, but she had thought Hershel would want to settle in to his new teaching career before he popped the question. It was unusual for her stoic gentleman to be so spontaneous!

He had gotten down on one knee while they were at the table, right in the middle of their little flat, and revealed a black velvet box to her.

The diamond sparkled on her finger as she dashed down the street. Bill could moan all he liked about 'improper dress code'- no way was she taking it off.

What would Dimitri say-?

An explosion nearly knocked her off her feet. Claire gasped and steadied herself, gripping her bag against her shoulder.

_Had that come from…?_

Her gaze shot up. A thick cloud of black smoke was rising from the institute. Third floor, third window from the right.

Claire hadn't been anywhere near enough to feel the full force of the blast, but all sound was suddenly sucked away, replaced by a ringing in her ears.

The happiest day of her life had just become the worst.

Something had gone catastrophically wrong with the time machine.

Had Bill attempted to run the experiment by himself? He'd claimed their patrons were demanding results- that they were days away from shutting the whole project down… But Bill would never jeopardise his own life-

_Would_ he?

It was the stench of burning that brought Claire back to the present. Then the surrounding noise came swimming back; collapsing rubble, people screaming, sirens in the distance…

No time to wait for the emergency services.

She dropped her bag, ran past the neighbouring flats, dodged the debris from a caved-in roof. A family cried out from beneath…

Right now, Bill was her concern.

She sprinted into the institute and up three flights of stairs, light-speed fast. (Just last week, she'd made a bet with Bill that she would invent light-speed travel-)

"Bill!" she called, heaving the lab's disconnected door aside. The room was engulfed in even more smoke.

Claire covered her mouth, but it was more for the horror of what she could see. Flaming equipment, shattered dials, sparking wires…

And at the centre of it all, their time machine lay in ruins.

Claire picked through the remains. They had poured their hearts and souls into this- sacrificed so many hours of their time…

What was it all for?

She gasped when she spotted a hand poking out from behind a broken panel.

_Bill…_

Wait… She realised as she edged closer that the arm was too thin, and the shirt sleeve- it was orange…

Claire couldn't breathe. She fell to her knees and crawled the rest of the way across the floor, numb to the shards of metal and glass that stung her palms.

Of course she recognised the body, but she tried to delude herself.

_He'd insisted the machine wasn't ready… He'd had an argument with Bill the day before… He'd never take off his lab coat…_

_Where was his lab coat?_

Claire looked around the room as if another version of her friend would pop into existence, as if he wasn't lying dead before her.

That was when she finally noticed Bill slumped against a storage cupboard. She felt a stab of relief and regret. Between both of her colleagues, why had Bill been the lucky one?

"Bill…" she croaked._ "Bill!"_

He groaned and his eyes slid open. (There wasn't so much as a dent in his glasses.)

"H-hold on, Bill! Help's coming…" Not for all of them.

Bill managed to sit up slightly. He squinted at her. "Where the bloody hell… _were_ you?" he grunted.

_She was too late._

"What happened?" Claire demanded thickly. "The machine-"

"Ugh… Calculations were off. He was too concerned about _you."_

_"Why?" _Claire already knew the answer. She had wondered for a while about his feelings, but she had dismissed it as a crush.

She had never dreamed he would risk his life in her place.

"Crazy lovesick fool," Bill muttered.

The test subject's face was half-covered by curly brown hair. Claire brushed the curls away. The ring still glittered on her finger like a sign of guilt.

She choked out, "I'm sorry, Dimitri."


	3. Delirium (Nina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Um, where are we going?” you ask.
> 
> The strange man laughs. “Home, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Delirium, kidnapping  
Spoilers: For Eternal Diva  
Set: Just before the events of Eternal Diva  
Song: With You by Avril Lavigne

You wake up at the seaside. 

Foamy turquoise waves lap at the white sand beneath you. 

You sit up, blinking at your surroundings. You’re on an empty beach, bordered by a forest and some grey stone cliffs. The sea seems... misty. There aren’t any boats or swimmers out there as far as you can tell. 

You’re alone. 

You can’t remember how you got here- wherever here is. 

Frowning, you dig your fingers into the sand, soft and fluffy as a pillow. It would be easier to go back to sleep and not have to worry... 

“There you are, darling!” The deep voice makes you jump. You stumble to your feet and turn to see a man strolling towards you. 

He’s wearing a pink-purple suit with a shirt and tie. He has bushy grey hair, a big beaky nose and his eyes are hidden behind his glasses. 

Do you know him? You take a small step away from him, but he calls to you again. “Come along now. We really should be getting back.” 

Back _where...? _You glance around the beach again. No one else is about, so you must have arrived with him._ Right..?_

The man has now reached your side. Smiling, he holds his hand out for you. His fingers are long and thin. 

It’s not like he’s trying to _drag _you away...

Hesitantly, you slip your hand into his and you start to walk with him. 

“Um, where are we going?” you ask.

He laughs. “Home, of course.” 

“Home...?” Do you live near the beach? You look around, hoping to see houses, a road or neighbours you might recognise.

How long have you been walking? 

The man notices you are lagging. 

“Are you getting tired? Do you want me to give you piggyback?” 

You shake your head. “N-no... I’m not tired...”

He squeezes your hand. “Now, now- I really think you should rest-“

“No!” you cry. “I want to go _home!” _

He peers down at you like a hawk honing in on its prey. His grip tightens painfully. 

You picture him- this_ stranger_\- pulling you into a car off the street. You scream and struggle and_ scream_ but no one can hear you. 

Mum and Dad won’t know where you are. What if you never see them again?

The strange man holds a sweet-smelling cloth over your nose and mouth-

“NO!” You bite his hand- hard enough to make him yelp and let you go. 

You run. The man shouts behind you, but you don’t dare look back. 

There’s no end to the beach ahead of you- just miles and miles of sand. 

Your gaze flits to the trees on your side. You can escape through the forest! 

Sand sucks at your feet as you turn. You gasp and try to wriggle free, but you sink even further down to your knees. 

You can hear the man getting closer. “That’s enough games now... It’s time to _calm down.” _

For a moment, you do as he says, letting yourself relax. You stop sinking. 

“There’s a good girl-“

You haul yourself out of the sand and hurtle into the forest. 

_“Help!”_ you shriek when you see someone standing in the shade of a tree. They look like a pirate with that pointy black hat and cape. 

“Please... please help me,” you gasp as you reach their side. 

The pirate ignores you; they keep digging for treasure or whatever it is they’re doing...

_“I can help you!”_ You turn to see a blonde-haired lady, beckoning you deeper into the forest. She’s pale and gaunt but her face is kind. _“This way!” _

Can you trust her? You don’t know her- _Do you?_\- but there’s something familiar about her. 

You glance from the lady to the beach. 

The strange man is at the threshold of the forest. “Oh, are you playing with a friend?” His glasses shine through the gloomy forest. “Tell her you have to go now.”

You go with the lady. She lets you pass her safely before staggering after you. 

While the beach stretched on forever, the forest thins too quickly. The two of you emerge onto a grassy cliff-top. 

Out here, there’s nowhere to hide. 

“W-what now?” you whimper. 

The woman has stopped to catch her breath. “He’s never... going to give up,” she pants. “I have to do something.” She swallows and points to the purple pendant on her skinny neck. “Can you... look after this for me?” 

You nod uncertainly. She takes off the pendant and places it in your hand. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Stay here. I’ll find a way to stop him.”

She smiles softly at you before she ventures back into the forest. 

“Wait,” you call. “What’s your name...?”

But she’s already gone. You’re left alone on the cliff, clutching the pendant, with the same question echoing through your head. 

_What’s your name?_


	4. Human Shield (Clive & Layton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Possible concussion  
Spoilers: For Lost Future  
Set: During Lost Future  
Song: Be Somebody by Thousand Foot Krutch

“Professor, run away while you can!” Clive shouts. He plays the part of Future Luke Triton to a tea, selflessly trying to shield his mentor from an opponent twice his size. He’s in over his head, but he acts brave and optimistic anyhow. 

This will quell any doubts in the professor’s mind that he really is Future Luke. 

Then Bostro batters him- a bit harder than Clive had expected. Clive careens across the casino and hits his head against the marble floor. 

He lies sprawled on his back. The yellow lights spin above him. His skull feels like it’s been cracked in two. Brilliant- he probably has a concussion.

“Oh no!” (Why does Little Luke sound like he’s underwater?)

_Stomp, stomp, stomp. _

A blurry white mass- Bostro- lumbers towards Clive. Clive swallows. 

It’s all for show, isn’t it? Dimitri’s ordered the Family not to kill Clive... _Right? _

They definitely know not to harm Hershel Layton. 

When the professor rushes to Clive’s aide, Bostro actually halts his advance. 

The professor isn’t armed. He doesn’t have a gang of thugs at his disposal. He could never carry the same menacing air as Future Layton. But his determination may just outweigh Dimitri’s. 

Nothing will stand between Professor Layton and a person in need. 

The professor crouches and helps Clive sit up, cradling his head. Clive groans but manages to get to his feet. 

“Quickly, you two!” the professor calls. “This way!” 


	5. Gunpoint (Desmond & the Bostonius crew)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t the ideal time for déjà vu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Being held at gunpoint. The implication that Desmond’s parter could be female, if that still bothers people.  
Spoilers: For Azran Legacy  
Set: During Azran Legacy  
Song: I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young

It ends as it began- in Froenborg’s ice cave.

I’m inspecting the gateway to the Azran’s greatest legacy when Layton and Co arrive. 

An unwanted sense of déjà vu washes over me. 

That day we joined forces, we exchanged smiles and handshakes. 

Now, I reciprocate Layton’s shout with a sneer. 

“The final Azran puzzle is mine to solve, and mine alone.”

I don’t need their help. I don’t need _him…_

My resolve wavers slightly (not that I let it show) when Aurora begs me to reconsider. 

There’s so much more feeling in her voice than when we first found her. It’s simply an assimilation of human speech- an Azran trick… Or so I try to convince myself. 

Why, then, do I want to _listen _to her?

Why did I teach her how to read, attempt to explain my jokes to her, and shield her from any strangers we encountered-?

“Stay where you are, all of you!”

And… Cue Bronev, swaggering in with a pack of armed agents. (I can almost hear Targent’s evil theme music playing in the background.) 

Bronev announces that ‘he’ (no ‘they’ this time) will take it from here. He orders us to hand over the key, just as he ordered us to hand over Aurora. His agents cock their guns, in case we didn’t get the message. 

Emmy clenches her fists. I picture my partner, gripping her sword. 

Luke and Aurora edge closer to Layton. I feel my daughter, nestled against my side. 

The key is hidden under my cape. Bronev doesn’t know that, though. Any one of us could be have it. It could be under Layton’s hat, up Emmy’s sleeve, or inside Luke’s satchel…

Once again, the choice comes down to me. Either I comply with Targent’s demands…or I lose everything I hold dear. 

I imagine Targent tearing us apart, one by one, until they find the key. In that time and through that chaos, I could escape from the cave. I could avoid the gunfire, as I’ve done before. Raymond isn’t here to save me if I get caught, but he’s waiting right outside.

I could do it, and leave my companions to die. 

“Pfah!” I spit. I hurl the key at Bronev’s head. He catches it and laughs. 

Emmy and Luke glare at me- _ungrateful brats_\- but Layton nods in thanks. 

All I can do is shrug. 


	6. Dragged Away (Luke, Layton & Marina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He isn’t stepping forward to die, but he is entering the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hostage situations  
Spoilers: For the Layton's Mystery Journey anime and Lost Future  
Set: During the LMJ anime  
Song: Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons

“So, what? You’re going to kill us?” Luke knows it’s a cliché line. He sounds like a captured hero from one of Flora’s mystery novels... 

Ha, he  _wishes_ he could be that heroic. 

His face is squashed against the cathedral floor. He’s baring his teeth, trying to look brave for Marina, but he’s actually sweating buckets. 

Despite their dire position, the professor seems as calm and as dignified as ever. “No, that probably isn’t the case,” he mutters. 

Luke glances at him. Is he trying to be reassuring or is he on to something...? 

“Fortunately, we have two spare coffins for you to stay in,” the priest informs them. 

No thanks- Luke would rather take their chances at the local two-star hotel. 

“I thought so,” the professor replies. “That means that your employer... Earl Dellendar is already dead, correct?” 

“Colour me surprised!” the priest exclaims. “You worked it out! So, does that mean you know what the Hidden Relics are?” 

The professor smiles slightly. “For the most part.” 

Luke turns his head to him. “Really, Professor?”  _Really? How long have you been sitting on that one?_

“Yes. The Relics were something mankind was never meant to touch.” 

“The Hidden Relics...” Luke echoes. “What are they?”

He and the professor have already discovered they were created by the Azran. (Of course.) The better question- what are they  for?

Not another bloody doomsday device! Maybe it’s just some magical healing coffin...

The professor’s solemn reply shatters Luke’s hopes.

“A door to the future that was never meant to be opened.”

_Time travel? _ Did the Azran master that too? Or are they going to end up like... like Claire? 

Before the professor can elaborate, the priest orders, “Take them to the chamber, and take Mrs Triton to the crypt.”

_C-crypt...? _

Luke meets Marina’s horrified gaze. 

“What use is she to you?” Luke demands as he’s hauled to his feet. “She doesn’t know _anything_ about the Relics.” He snorts, so convincing that the professor frowns at him. “She can’t even solve  _puzzles!”_

Marina gets the message. _“Luke...”_ she whimpers, fake-hurt rising in her voice. (Was she just  _pretending_ to cry with Luke whenever they watched  _Finding Nemo?)_

“Well...” The priest tsks. “She’ll have plenty of time to practice while she’s imprisoned. Perhaps one day she’ll even join our congregation!” 

He flicks his hand and the cult members drag Marina away. 

Marina yelps to Luke over her shoulder,  _“Just keep swimming!”_

Her captors exchange a confused glance. 

Stuck between a laugh and a sob, Luke responds, “ _Just keep swimming! _ Someone will save us!” 

Emmy, Flora, Desmond... Too many friends to count. 

The professor had pinned his hopes on Kat, going as far as to leave her a hidden message outside the cathedral, but Kat is  ten. How long does the professor think they’ll be waiting? 

The whole reason why Luke started investigating the Relics in the first place was so that Kat and the professor wouldn’t need to get involved. Now, he, the professor and even Marina are done for. 

Kat may never see her dad again. 

The priest grabs a candle stick from the alter. This must be some kind of leaver; at the end of the aisle, a hatch slides open in the floor. Beneath, there’s a secret staircase that descends into the darkness. 

The priest goes first with the candle. Luke and the professor are shoved after him, through an endless tunnel, until they come to a dimly-lit room. 

Before them is a stone chamber. It looks as if a giant has picked up a small house and inserted it into this room. 

Judging by its size, shape and the grey blue-tinged stone...

“The Relics,” Luke gasps, “from the Lestagiana Cave!” 

Chuckling, the priest pushes open the chamber’s doors. 

Inside, the walls and the floor pulse with blue veins. Purple crystals light each corner. In the centre of the chamber is a pedestal like the one Luke and the professor saw in the cave. And facing the pedestal... 

Are those the... coffins the priest spoke of?

The priest presses two buttons on the pedestal, releasing the coffins onto the floor. Luke clenches his teeth at the noise they make. 

Turning a dial, the priest drains the coffins of their glowing liquid contents. The coffin lids open with a cold  hiss.

“Youngest first,” the priest says, smirking at Luke. 

Luke gulps. 

He isn’t stepping forward to die, but he is entering the unknown. Somehow, that feels even more frightening. 

How far into the ‘future’ will they go? Ten years? A century? Millennium? 

Everyone they love could die without ever learning what happened to them. 

Mum and Dad...

Emmy and Flora...

Alfendi and Kat...

How long will they be waiting?

Luke can’t hold back his tears. He might as well be a terrified ten-year-old again. 

“Remember, Luke...” the professor murmurs. Luke turns to him. “We must keep a clear mind.” 

Luke musters up a smile. “Right-“

The cult members shove him into the coffin, forcing him to lie straight like an Egyptian mummy. Luke shuts his eyes tight. 

At least the professor will still be by his side- 

The door closes. 


	7. Isolation (Marina)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marina accepted the purple robe. Even if it took a hundred years, she wouldn’t leave without Luke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hostage situation, isolation, starvation, disorientation, blood, drugging. Also, this oneshot contains a transgender character who discusses implied struggles in the past, though I myself am not trans.  
Spoilers: For the Layton's Mystery Journey anime  
Set: During the LMJ anime. A continuation from the previous chapter.  
Song: Sea of Lovers by Christina Perri

Marina stumbled into the tiny room. The door slammed shut behind her.

Her arms were still tied up, but they had left her legs free...

She spun around, assessing her new prison. It was smaller than the storage room Luke had been locked in at the British museum, but slightly brighter with a single old bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

Above, the cathedral bricks had been white and spotless, but down here in the crypt, they were black and grimy with age. 

The whole place reeked of stale alcohol from the packed wine racks. Wooden wine racks that didn’t look very stable... 

Marina pushed her body against one of the racks. The wood groaned and bottles clinked together in protest. She tried again, throwing all of her weight into it. The rack wobbled perilously. A bottle came loose and fell to the floor. It smashed open, unleashing wine and shards of glass. 

Marina grinned. Still, she waited a few moments to see if the cult members had heard her. It appeared that they had not.

She knelt down to pick up the biggest, sharpest piece of glass- which was no easy task while her hands were bound behind her. The glass scratched her fingers, but she kept hold of it, knowing her life- and Luke’s- depended on it. 

The next time that door opened, she would be ready. 

* * *

After what felt like hours, she managed to cut through her ropes- though her hands suffered as a result, her blood mixing with the wine on the floor. She wasn’t squeamish (performing a million dissections would knock that right out of you) but it made her dizzy. This wasn’t helped at all by her grumbling stomach and her burning thirst...

Why couldn’t she have grabbed something to eat before she got abducted?

After what felt like days, the door finally opened.

She had planned on jumping out at her captors from behind the door, wielding her piece of glass like a dagger... 

But she was too weak from dehydration and hunger. She had to hold onto the wall to keep herself up. Two cult members were in the room before she could even raise her glass.

_Raise her glass, hehe..._

One cult member went to clean up the broken wine bottle and the... other messes she had made. (She couldn’t see his face under that purple hood, but he was definitely scowling.) 

His companion- assuming they were all male, Marina wasn’t in the right frame of mind to ask- stared at her. Then he pointed at her useless ‘weapon’. 

“Hand it over...” He sounded young- maybe a similar age to her and Luke. 

_Luke, _Marina remembered through all of her disorientation. If she was _starving_, she could only imagine how Luke was suffering. 

Hands shaking, she lifted the shard of glass higher. “L-let me go,” she croaked, “or I _swear...”_

The younger cult member pulled something out of his long sleeve. It looked like a small bottle of-

_“Water!” _Marina gasped. 

“And _food,” _he added, revealing a short loaf of bread as well. “Want some?”

Her mouth would have been watering if it wasn’t so dry. She ran her tongue over her quivering lips. 

How was she supposed to escape when she could barely walk? 

_I’m sorry, Luke._

She dropped the glass in defeat. 

The young cult member took the shard away and rewarded her with the bread and water. 

Marina didn’t question why they were bothering to give her food and water- _Water!-_ she just scooped up the bottle and drained every drop like a thirsty animal. 

Then she inhaled the bread. Wait- she really should make it last. Who knew when her next meal would be? She tried to savour every mouthful. It was the best thing she had ever eaten- though it was grainy, hard and it had a weird taste... 

Her head felt even heavier than before. She leant against the wall and slid down to the floor. 

The one cult member kept watching her. 

* * *

She woke up alone (not that that was unusual) and discovered that her left wrist was chained to the wall. Someone had bandaged her hands after her struggles to escape. How _considerate_ of them...

Lifting her gaze, she saw that all the wine bottles had been removed. The smell had improved a little- something Marina was actually grateful for, since she felt nauseous.

The cult members had moved the room around- moved _her_\- while she was unconscious. 

No... while she was _drugged._ It must have been something in the bread or the water. 

She was so desperate that she’d eaten it right out of the cult members’ hands. 

Now, she’d lost her weapon and the element of surprise. They knew she would try to escape, but she could easily be controlled. 

Control her... why? Did the priest really want her to ‘join’ them, or was that just something he’d said to rile Luke up? 

_Luke_... How long had he and the professor been in the ‘chamber’- wherever that was? 

_“Someone will save us!” _Those were Luke’s last words to her. 

Emmy Altava have must been the saviour Luke had in mind. Her roundhouse kick was legendary- capable of toppling enemies, rocks and solid walls. 

But according to Luke, Emmy had left the professor years ago to become a travelling camera woman. 

Did Emmy have any idea where the professor and Luke had gone? Could Rosa tell her, or Flora...?

These days, Flora didn’t have much to do with the professor unless it involved Kat. (She would have to take care of Kat even more now in the professor’s absence.) 

Flora kept in touch with Luke- he had proudly read her letters to Marina- but who knew how much he had told Flora about the Relics. Probably even less than he had told Marina... 

Rosa was bound to go to the police when the professor and Luke didn’t return home. But would the police be able to track them down?

Marina had only managed to follow Luke to Southampton thanks to one of his maps... which the cult had confiscated, along with the rest of Marina’s stuff.

She couldn’t figure out _how _they had found her. At Luke’s request, she hadn’t talked to anyone... and ironically, no one she trusted knew where she had run off to. 

Most of Luke’s friends didn’t even know _who_ she was. 

She never did give her parents her new address... 

A rock dropped in Marina’s stomach as she grasped how dire her situation truly was. This really could be it- she could just disappear and no one would ever realise what had happened to her. 

Sure, everyone would notice if Professor Layton- the most famous detective in London- went missing. Maybe even his old apprentice would get a mention. 

But _her…?_

The door opened. Marina gasped, praying a middle-aged lady would kick her way into the room. But it was just a cult member.

“Ah, I thought you’d still be asleep...” The _same_ cult member- the young one. 

He placed another bottle of water at her feet. This was followed by a bowl of chunky porridge and a spoon. It smelled so good, but Marina turned her nose up at it. 

The man snorted. “You’re not in any position to be picky.”

“You_ drugged _me last time,” she grumbled.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t my idea...” He prodded the bowl closer to her. “This is_ exactly_ the same thing that I had for breakfast.”

_“Prove it.”_

“Fine.” Without hesitation, he took a bite of the porridge. (_Her _porridge!) 

She held back for a moment, trying to get a glimpse of his eyes under his hood. They looked clear and green as grass.

Gosh, she missed being outdoors...

She sighed and he passed her the porridge. Eating while she was chained up was no easy task. The cult member continued watching her in amusement.

“What?” she snapped.

“You’re American,” he noted. 

Shouldn’t the cult already know that if they had been stalking Luke?

_“And?”_ she said, putting her entire accent into it. 

“...How are things over there?” he wondered.

Marina couldn’t believe they were having this conversation, but it was the only normal conversation she’d had in about a week. 

She shrugged hard. “Don’t know. I haven’t been home in like six months.”

And now she never would go home again. 

A tear slipped into her porridge. She turned away from the cult member. He walked out and locked the door.

She wondered if he heard her crying, or if he even cared.

* * *

From then on, he visited her every day- once in the morning and once in the evening. 

This was how she kept hold of time... and hope. 

If anything, she was grateful to that one cult member, who she started calling the warden. She would much rather face him everyday then the brutes who had caught her, or that horrible excuse for a priest... 

“Why a cathedral?” she asked the warden one morning. Porridge was on the menu, as usual.

“My family were devout Catholics,” he replied through his own porridge. (Some days, he ate with her.) 

“No, I mean- why hide the Relics here, of all places?” Why not in a top secret facility or on a private island? 

“Oh...” He almost sounded disappointed that she wasn’t inquiring about _him _specifically. “It was Earl Dellendar’s idea. He was on he brink of death and wanted to ‘devote himself to God’, so he built this place to store the Relics-“

”And to keep himself alive,” Marina finished, amazed. That must be the purpose of the Relics- to extend the life of whoever possessed them. What did that mean for Luke and the professor?

The warden snorted. “Didn’t work, though.”

“Yeah... Professor Layton said Dellendar died.” 

She didn’t ask _why,_ but the warden filled her in anyway.

“There was a... maintenance error with the coffins,” he revealed in a low voice. 

“I-is it fixed now?” she gasped. She hoped the same thing wouldn’t happen to Luke and the professor! 

“Apparently...” The warden shrugged. “There’ll be trouble if the problem arises again. The priest is meant to be keeping a close eye on things.”

Was that meant to _reassure _her? Marina’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Priest’s orders,” he said quickly. 

Marina folded her arms. “If this is his plan to recruit me for the cult, tell him it’s _not_ working.” 

The warden let out a short laugh. “Will do... Want me take that?”

She’d polished off her entire bowl of porridge while they were talking. She gave him the empty bowl. As he got up to leave, she smiled a little.

* * *

No one entered her prison that evening. 

She had gotten used to living off two square meals a day. She’d even come to expect it. 

But without dinner, her stomach rumbled and her headaches returned. 

Mercifully, her door opened the next morning. 

Still half-asleep, she demanded, “What time do you call...?” She trailed off, however, as an older man with flowing white robes glided in. 

Marina bolted up and shrank back against the wall. Why was _he_ here? Where was her warden?

The priest smirked at her confusion and her fear. 

“Good- you’ve gained some respect,” he purred. “That will serve you well in your next life.”

_Next _life? What did he mean? Was this it? Had he decided to kill her after all?

It had been months and no on had come to rescue her. Luke had been wrong. The cult didn’t need a hostage anymore.

Marina braved a glance beyond the door. There were cult members accompanying the priest. Amongst them, Marina thought she recognised the warden. 

So that... that was why he had shared the cult’s secrets with her. He knew she was going to die. 

Marina wished she was strong enough to fight, clever enough to negotiate, or bold enough to go out in a blaze of glory. 

But she wasn’t enough.

“Don’t look so _glum,”_ the priest sneered as tears streamed down her face. “You should be grateful! This is a tremendous opportunity. You’ll be the first woman welcomed into the cathedral.”

“H-huh?” Shocked, Marina looked from the priest to the warden, who was shuffling his feet. 

After everything, did they honestly expect her to join their deranged cult?

“Your initiation will begin tomorrow,” the priest decreed. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to leave your quarters quite yet, but if you continue to behave... then we will see.”

In other words, they would only release her when she was a brainwashed pawn. 

Marina wanted to spit in the priest’s face. Instead, she forced herself to nod. 

The priest seemed satisfied.

He snapped his fingers and a cult member brought in a small purple robe. The priest presented the robe to Marina. 

She accepted it with a “Thank you”. (At least it would keep her warm.) 

The priest smiled and left her prison, locking the door once more. 

Marina had never been so glad to be alone. 

* * *

“Hey-“ 

Marina threw her sneaker at the warden. She would probably never get it back, but it was a worthy sacrifice to see him retreat behind the door. 

“It’s just _me,” _he hissed, poking his head back into the room. His hood had fallen down. For the first time, Marina could fully see his face: Green eyes, pointed chin and plaited blonde hair. She didn’t care how young he looked. 

_“You,”_ she seethed. “Because of _you _I’m going to become a zombiefied cult member!” 

“Not all of us are zombies,” he muttered. He did a quick check outside before he crept back in and shut the door. 

She glared at him. “Then why don’t you _do _something? Why don’t you release me?”

“I can’t do that-“

“Then you can just _leave!” _Stockholm syndrome- that was all it had been. She didn’t need his company. 

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he argued. “I’m just as trapped as you are!”

“Oh, _please...”_ Marina raised her chained-up wrist. “There are plenty of cathedrals- plenty of cults- that don’t _kidnap _people!” 

“There’s nowhere on _Earth_ where I would feel safe.” He gripped his plait, closing his eyes. Tears glittered in his lashes, but they were gone when he gazed at Marina again. “My only hope lies in the future.”

“You want... to use the Relics,” Marina realised, “for yourself.”

He nodded and huffed, “But I can't do that while_ your _husband and father-in-law are hogging the coffins!” 

Marina didn’t bother correcting him. “So... If I join the cult and figure out how the Relics work, you’ll help me free them?”

“It won’t be easy,” he warned. “If you mess up the coffins, I... um, _they _could die, like Dellendar.”

“We’ll study the coffins,” Marina suggested. “We’ll watch how the priest maintains them.”

“I’ve been here four years and I’ve never been allowed down that staircase.” 

Marina frowned. “Just how old _are _you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He was even younger than her! While she and Luke had been at university, this man... this _kid,_ had fallen in with the cult. 

She couldn’t begin to imagine what he had experienced- missing his family, learning the cult’s ways, being cut off from the outside world... 

Marina would have to embrace that kind of life if she wanted to survive. 

She could try to escape when she had earned their trust. But what if she hadn’t learned enough about the Relics to save Luke and the professor? 

What if the priest pulled the plug on their coffins?

Marina sighed, feeling the weight of the mission on her shoulders. 

She looked at her warden- now her ally- and promised, “I’ll stay. But if you_ ever _turn on me, I’ll rat you out to the priest.”

He smiled. “That seems fair.”

They shook hands on it. 

He winced at her chains. “Hopefully we’ll get those off you soon...” He approached the door and tossed her sneaker back to her. 

“Thank you,” she said before he opened the door. There was something else... “Um, what’s your name?”

“Joseph to the rest of the cult. But when we’re alone, you can call me _Josie.” _

He- or _she_\- smiled, and Marina finally understood. 

The two of them may have been trapped, but they were in this together. They would remain with the cult until they fully understood how the Relics worked. 

Marina put on on her purple robe. 

Even if it took a hundred years, she wouldn’t leave without Luke. 


	8. Stab Wound (Anton, Katia & Layton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton’s aim had been to separate the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Stabbing, blood, Anton's... possessiveness of Sophia  
Spoilers: For PL2  
Set: An AU of the sword fight scene from PL2.  
Song: Viva la Vida by Coldplay

“You’re going to be very sorry you crossed me!”

The sight of Sophia-_ his_ Sophia- clinging to Layton’s arm sickened him. 

How _could_ she? How could she embrace another man when she and Anton were betrothed? After everything they had been through together…

Anton charged at them, sword poised as if to strike, but Sophia only drew closer to Layton, hugging his back. 

Layton adopted the defensive stance of a swordsman. Anton might have been impressed, were it not for the fact that Layton stood between he and Sophia. 

For that, Anton would quite happily sever Layton’s arm from his shoulder. But wouldn’t it be dishonourable to fight an unarmed opponent?

Both Sophia and Layton gasped as his blade glided towards Layton’s shoulder. Anton’s aim had simply been to separate the two of them. 

He expected Sophia to flee from his attack. She had never seemed thrilled watching Anton’s fencing lessons, but Father had insisted Anton needed to train. Didn’t Anton want to protect his home and his family?

(But how could he when Sophia had left home-?)

Anton’s aim was off. Sophia didn’t move in time.

She released a cry that pierced Anton’s soul.

Sophia stumbled back, shielding the side of her cheek. Anton saw a slash of red between her fingers. 

His sword fell to the carpet. “Sophia!” 

He ran to her, but she scrambled further back, almost tripping up the stairs in her bid to escape him.

He stopped. Her eyes were filled with the pain and fear that he had inflicted. There were no tears, but her eyes appeared… misty? (Weren’t her irises darker than that?) 

Doubtfully, Anton reached out for her. Insufficient apologies spilled from his mouth. “I’m so sorry, my dear! I don’t know what came over me-“

“Get away from her!” Layton’s young ward growled. The boy put himself in front of Sophia, protecting her from Anton. 

Layton rushed to Sophia’s side on the stairs. “Are you alright?” He tried to inspect her wound, but Sophia winced and shook her head. (Why was her hair so short…?)

She pressed her palm against her cheek even more. Blood slipped through her fingertips.

Anton’s arm drooped. He studied his hand- his sword-hand. It became a shaking fist.

He stammered, “S-Sophia-!”

“I’M NOT _SOPHIA!” _she shouted.


	9. Shackled (Carmine & Chelmey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #9: Shackled (Carmine & Chelmey)  
“There was a passenger with me in the car-" Carmine stood up, straining against his shackles. “Have you SEEN HER?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Interrogation, referenced car crash, accusations of alcohol and drug use.  
Spoilers: For Curious Village and maybe Professor Layton vs Ace Attorney  
Set: During PLvsAA. No one knows exactly where PLvsAA falls in the PL timeline. Layton knows Chelmey but Luke is still with him, so presumably it takes place after PL2 but before PL3. But then, Flora doesn't get so much as a passing mention... Hopefully, this helps!  
Song: Secrets by One Republic

_‘Professor,_

_I pray you received my first letter safely. Please look after it. _

_There is so much I would like to tell you but at present I really do not have the time. _

_Hours after the car crash, I awoke not in the park, but at Scotland Yard. _

_They_ _ have caught me~’_

Carmine had been scrawling the message on the bandage torn from his arm. His pen froze as the door opened behind him. 

He slipped the bandage up his sleeve- no easy feat while he was handcuffed to an interrogation table- and let the pen fall onto the floor. As the pen landed, he covered its noise with a coughing fit. 

That wouldn’t seem _too_ suspicious. He had just survived a car accident, after all. It was a miracle he still had a spleen at this point. 

“Sounds like you could use a drink,” someone grunted.

“Y-yes, please,” Carmine spluttered.

A tall moustached policeman took the chair on the opposite side of the table. He placed a glass of water just out of Carmine’s reach. 

“You can have some_ after _you answer my questions,” his interrogator growled. 

Wasn’t that technically a form of torture? 

From the way the policeman was scowling at him, you would think Carmine was a suspected serial killer. 

As far as Carmine knew, he had been the only victim in the park, since Espella had gotten away (or so he hoped). 

Carmine had had brushes with the law in the past, but only for little things- including but not limited to trespassing, property damage, ‘questionable’ driving... 

He must have encountered this man somewhere before. 

Carmine squinted at him. “Apologies... but do I _know _you?”

_”Inspector Cornelius Chelmey,”_ the inspector said into a tape recorder. He pointed the recorder at Carmine. ”Pronounce your name _clearly.”_

_”Carmine Accidenti,”_ Carmine supplied in his thickest accent. It wasn’t his fault if police force couldn’t afford European translators. 

“In _Queen’s English._”

“Fine, fine…”

Chelmey huffed, “We’d be here all night if I listed your _previous_ crimes, so we’ll stick to the case at hand. Were you driving towards Riverside Park at approximately 7.15 this evening?”

It was more like he had been tearing up the road, but anyway… “Yes.”

“Are you the registered keeper of the vehicle?”

“No.”

He and Espella had found the car on the outskirts of Labyrinthia. Apparently, cars didn’t exist in Labyrinthia, so Carmine saw no reason why they couldn’t ‘borrow’ it to escape. Espella had been dumbstruck when he hot-wired the car and they drove away. Carmine smiled at the memory.

“This isn't funny in the slightest,” Chelmey snarled. “Did you _steal _the vehicle?”

“Yes,” Carmine admitted, “but it was a matter of-“

“Were you under the effects of _alcohol?”_

“The breathalyzer already answered that, didn’t it?” Carmine pointed out. The police had tested his breath fo alcohol as soon as he was conscious.

“There are some things the test can’t detect,” Chelmey said, “such as _other _drugs.” 

If there was something in the Labyrinthian water, it should have left his system by now. 

Carmine shrugged innocently. “Only tobacco... which isn’t illegal, the last time I checked-”

“Then why were you doing _70 _on a _30 miles per hour road?_”

Carmine hesitated for a moment before he revealed, “I was being pursued.”

“By_ who?” _

“Someone who wished me great harm.”

“I see... And did this someone_ knock_ _your car into a tree?" _

“Yes, they were responsible.”

“Then where’s the _other car?”_

“I never said they were _driving,”_ Carmine muttered. 

“Then _how,” _Chelmey demanded, “did they _hit _your car into the tree?” (He looked as if he wanted to _hit _Carmine across the face.)

Carmine rubbed his head. “They... moved the statues onto the road so I would collide with them.” 

_“Who?” _Chelmey repeated. “_WHO_ moved the statues?”

A direct question. Carmine couldn’t dodge this one if he wanted to remain honest.

Looking Chelmey in the eye, he said, “Witches.”

He expected Chelmey to flip the table over. Instead, Chelmey hummed. “How many of them were there?”

Carmine blinked. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe you saw some people in _witches’ costumes…”_

Carmine’s heart skipped a beat. “Where did you see these people?”

_“I’m _asking the questions here. How many-“

“Seven, I think!” He didn’t remember. He didn’t care. Those witches were still out there. What if they caught Espella before she reached Professor Layton? 

“There was a passenger with me in the car,” Carmine burst out. “A young woman with blonde hair and a red cloak-“

There was a tap at the door. Both Chelmey and Carmine ignored it. 

Chelmey grunted, “You could have mentioned her sooner-“

“Have you _seen her?” _Carmine stood up, straining against his shackles. 

“Sit DOWN!” Chelmey ordered. “You were the only person present at the crash site. I arrived there moments after the crash. We haven’t had any reports of a mysterious woman running around.”

Somewhat relieved, Carmine sagged into his seat. 

Someone knocked the door again and squeaked, “I-Inspector?”

“I’m _busy_, Barton!” Chelmey barked.

“Sorry, Inspector, but there’s a young lady here who’s asked to talk to you. She’s quite distressed!”

Carmine shifted in his seat to stare at the door. 

Noticing Carmine’s reaction, Chelmey asked, “Who is she?”

Barton informed, “It’s Flora Reinhold, Professor Layton’s daughter…”

Since when did the _professor_ have a _daughter? _And what was she doing here? 

Awkwardly, Barton continued, “Oh, and the professor’s mother is with her-“

“I’m his _cleaner!”_ a woman’s voice snapped.

A voice Carmine recognised immediately. How many times had she called for him to quit running in Gressenheller’s corridors, or ordered him to clean up any breakages he had caused? 

_“Rosa!”_ he hollered. 

For a moment there was silence, both within and outside the interrogation room. 

Then, Rosa replied, “Um... hello?”

“Bloody hell…” Chelmey huffed like a horse and he got up to open the door. 

A constable- Barton- tripped into the room. He straightened up and saluted. “Miss Flora and Rosa to see you, Sir.”

“No ‘Miss’ for me?” Rosa grumbled as she and a brown-haired girl followed him in. Rosa’s gaze fell on Carmine. “Oh,” she said flatly. “Why am I _not _surprised?”

The girl, Flora, regraded Carmine warily. She reminded him a bit of his old classmate, Janice. Maybe it was the ponytail...

Flora pulled on Rosa’s sleeve and she whispered, “Who is this?”

“Carmine Accidenti, the professor’s former student,” Roa explained. “The bane of my existence a few years back.”

“That makes two of us,” Chelmey cut in. “I’m in the middle of an interrogation. What do you want?”

Flora stepped towards Chelmey. She whimpered, “Something’s happened to the professor and Luke!”

_“What?”_ Carmine and Chelmey exclaimed together. 

Chelmey silenced Carmine with a glare. His expression softened slightly when he looked back at Flora. He tried to reassure her. “I spoke to Layton at the riverside not three hours ago-“

Flora insisted, “We went to his office and it looked like- like there’d been a tornado! The window was smashed open and the professor’s papers were all over the place!”

That _definitely_ sounded like the witches’ handiwork. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone stole the professor’s research,” Rosa recalled with a frown. 

Chelmey stroked his lip. “When did he leave his office?”

“We don’t know,” Flora said. “We were at the library but when we came to meet them, they were gone!”

Carmine clenched his fists on the table. He had sent Espella off to explore a strange city by herself and she had led the witches straight to Professor Layton!

Chelmey turned to Carmine. “Would _you _happen to have anything to do with this?

“I’m afraid that I might,” Carmine mumbled. He peered up at Flora and Rosa. “But I’m going to help you find them... if the inspector lets me…”

Flora looked at Chelmey. She clasped her hands under her chin. “Please, Inspector? We need all the help we can get!”

“He does take after the professor as a detective,” Rosa added, “even if he is rougher around the edges…”

Barton piped up, “There also seems to be some... some sort of link between the car crash and the attack on the professor’s office. And Mr Accidenti was present at the crash site-“

_“Alright,”_ Chelmey conceded a growl. He jabbed a finger at Carmine. “If you put _one_ foot out of line, I’ll put you behind bars.”

Carmine nodded. “Understood.”

Chelmey unlocked his handcuffs. 

Carmine stood up. “Can you take me to the professor’s office?”

This was the start of a story within a story, he could tell. 


	10. Unconscious (Marylin & Clark)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had learned first aid in case she needed to help her mum, but she had never actually been in an emergency before...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Unconsciousness, first aid  
Spoilers: For PL4  
Set: During the final battle in PL4  
Song: No One Mourns the Wicked from Wicked

“Quickly!” The inspector pointed up towards the dam. “Everybody, _this way!” _

Marylin’s mum couldn’t move _quickly— _especially not up that steep hill.

They had to escape through Highyard Arch— it was closer and _down_hill— but Mum was petrified by the sight of the robots leaping onto the roofs.

“Come _on, _Mum!”

Marylin grabbed her right arm and Dad took the left. Together, they herded her down the hill.

The two robots in the plaza were busy attacking Arianna’s pet— _Loosha_. Marylin felt sorry for Loosha, but at least she was providing a distraction for them to get away.

Crow and the rest of the ravens were probably helping Professor Layton right now. But Marylin’s first priority was her family…

She and her parents were at the western edge of the plaza now. _Nearly there…_

The ground shook under their feet. Mum gasped. Marylin glanced over her shoulder.

All the little robots had joined together to form one big robot! It was looming over Loosha like a daddy longlegs.

“Come with me!” a man called.

Ahead of them, down Highyard Arch— Mayor Triton was waving.

Marylin’s family staggered after him and he directed them between two houses— into an alleyway.

There wasn’t enough room for three people to walk in a line, so Marylin went behind her parents.

“It should be safer here,” Mr Triton breathed. He winced, however, when they heard crashing and Loosha’s cries from the plaza. He poked his head out of the alley, muttering, “Poor thing...” He gasped and shouted, “LUKE, GET AWAY FROM THERE!” He ran out of the alley. _“LUKE—“_

Another crash, closer this time, and his shouts were cut off.

Biting her lip, Marylin looked from the street to her parents. 

“_Mari?”_ Mum yelped. She and Dad were at the other end of the alley.

“Keep going— get somewhere safe!” Marylin told them. “I need to help…”

Dad hesitated for a moment, glancing at Mum. Marylin had survived screaming customers. She could handle this. 

Dad nodded to her. “Be careful, _Cariad!”_

“I will!”

Pressing her back against the wall, Marylin peeked out at Highyard Arch. “Mayor Triton,” she gasped.

He was lying in the middle of the street, surrounded by pieces of rubble. Had he been hit...?

Marylin looked at the plaza. 

Loosha was dodging the robot’s attacks and— was that _Luke _riding on her head? (No wonder Mayor Triton had sounded so worried!) The robot was too concerned with Loosha to notice a simple fruit-selling girl. 

Marylin dashed out and called, “Mayor Triton?” What was his first name again? The professor had said it earlier... “Clark? _Clark Triton! _Can you hear me?” 

No response. Not good...

Marylin gulped. She had learned first aid in case she needed to help her mum, but she had never actually been in an emergency before...

_First time for everything, right?_

With a sigh, she knelt next to Mayor Triton. 

He had landed on his back, so she should have easy access his airway. She put her hand on his forehead and gently titled his head back— but not too far. She lifted his chin with two fingers so he wouldn’t choke on his own tongue. She was careful not to move his neck too much.

Next, she had to check his breathing. His chest wasn’t rising as far as she could tell, but when she leaned in closer, she felt his breath against her cheek. That was better! 

She sat back. 

_“We’re ready!”_ Luke shouted somewhere from the plaza. What were they up to? 

_Not now— _she had to focus on saving Luke’s dad. 

This was the hard part— putting him into the recovery position. 

The mayor’s right arm was closest to her. She moved his arm so that it was at a right angle to his body with his hand upwards. As for his left hand... that had to go under the side of his head, with the back of his hand touching his cheek. 

Then, she had to bend his knee up... but how could she do that while she was holding his hand in place? Why did he have to be so _tall?_

Marylin hummed. Maybe she could leave his left hand there, just for a moment—

She released his hand when there was more racket from the plaza. 

Rocks and metal had clattered to the floor. Had the robot been defeated? Nope… It was reforming, and throwing the broken remains of the monument... hopefully not at her friends. 

She returned her attention to Mayor Triton. She rested his left hand on the ground beside his chin, leaving his elbow jutting out while she went to bend his left knee into a right angle. 

Puffing, she pulled on his knee and rolled him on to his side. She made sure his left arm was supporting his head.

She checked his airway again— he was still breathing. 

Marylin stood up and stepped back to assess her work. 

Seeing him like this, with his face slack and without his furrowed brow, he didn’t look like the snobby mayor or the stern father she had heard so much gossip about. There was actually some resemblance between him and Luke...

Marylin sighed. All she could do now was wait for Mr Triton to wake up, or wait for help to arrive...

She was so relieved when, five minutes later, Wren and Socket came racing down Highyard Arch. 

_“Marylin!”_

“Is everyone okay?” Marylin gasped.

“Yeah— whoa!” Socket skidded to a halt next to her. “Is that the _mayor?”_

“I think he got hit in the head…”

“We need to get him out of here,” Wren said in a rush. 

“The seal’s tryin’ to break down the floodgates!” Socket explained. “And Crow’s helpin’ her!”

They were going to wash the robot away like a spider down the drain. 

_Crow, you mad genius,_ Marylin thought with grin. 

She heard a low groan and turned to see Mr Triton was waking up. 

“Luke...?” He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head. He opened his eyes and blinked at Marylin, Wren and Socket. “Have you... seen my son?”

Socket answered tactlessly, “He’s with the professor fightin’ the giant robot!”

“W-w_hat?” _

“Um, we need to go _right now!_” Wren intervened.

“Can you run?” Marylin checked. “You hit your head pretty hard…” She helped Mr Triton clamber to his feet. 

“Thank you…” he sighed. He offered Marylin a weak smile. That smile sank when he turned his head up to the plaza. “Can anyone else hear... water—?”

“Run,” Wren shouted, shoving him into the alley. _“Run!”_


	11. Stiches (Rook & Bishop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bishop needs stitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Flesh wounds  
Spoilers: For Azran Legacy, maybe  
Song: Stand By You by Rachel Platten (It was either that or Shawn Mendes' Stiches, leave me alone)

“And what have we learned?” said Rook.

Bishop sighed, “Don’t touch big birds’ nests. _Don’t touch-!” _He yanked his arm away from Rook.

“If you leave it, it _will _get infected,” Rook warned. Who knew how many bugs were in this godforsaken forest?

“It’s my _battle wound. _Maybe the boss will see it and he’ll promote me for my bravery!”

“And then you’ll get fired when you _lose an arm_,” Rook growled. He held out his hand and flexed his fingers. “Let me see it.”

Grudgingly, Bishop gave Rook his arm. There were four tears in Bishop’s sleeve- talon marks. Rook rolled up his sleeve and grimaced at the deep red cuts in Bishop’s skin. (_That bloody bird…)_

“It’s not _that _bad,” Bishop said.

Rook grabbed his canister of water and gently poured it over the wound. (It wasn’t phoenix tears, but the water was clean enough.)

Bishop winced. “There, it’s done-“

“Nope.” Rook tightened his grasp on Bishop’s arm. “You need stitches.”

_“What?”_

“You can’t go around with an open wound, and I doubt the local doctor will see us…” They had only scared that one kid- along with the eagle- but word spread fast.

Hoping to hide the guilt on his face, Rook turned away from Bishop to search through his pack.

Bishop huffed, “So how do I get _stitches-?” _He paused when Rook pulled out a small needle and thread. “How long have you had those?”

“Since I cut my leg on some shrapnel in Ambrosia.” Rook shrugged. “The boss won’t give us decent supplies, so I decided to stock up.”

“You’re so prepared!” Bishop beamed. “Always looking out for your teammates. If anyone should be promoted here, it’s _you.”_

Rook ducked his head as he inserted the thread through the eye of the needle.

Bishop chuckled, “I didn’t know you could _sew_, Rook!”

“I’ll sew your _mouth _shut if you make me mess this up. Now, hold still…”


	12. "Don't move!" (Melina & Janice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Melina, don't-!"  
She shut Janice out. Then she threw herself at Descole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Inner monologue, sickness, heights  
Spoilers: For Eternal Diva  
Set: During Eternal Diva  
Song: Clarity by Zedd

_He’s going to hit them! I have to do something!_

_Don’t move!_ Janice exclaimed, stunning Melina. _The professor can handle this. _

Beneath her reassurance, there was a layer of dread. Melina saw flashes of memories, despite Janice’s efforts to suppress them; Professor Layton welcoming everyone on their first day of class, the professor praising Janice on a successful find at a dig-site, the professor comforting Janice when she decided to quit the archaeology course...

All for Melina.

Melina looked back at Descole. 

_Melina, no-!_

She shut Janice out. Then she threw herself at Descole.

“Stop it!” she cried. 

“Out of my way!” He flung her aside like she was nothing- like he hadn’t spent all that time trying to preserve her life.

A yelp was torn from her as she tumbled off the machine. It was metal- nothing to grip on to- until she felt the wire under her back. She grabbed hold of it but her body was already over the edge. 

She hung on for dear life- for Janice’s life.

_Janice! _she gasped._ I’m sorry-_

Her left hand slipped. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would save her from the sheer drop.

_I thought... I could do something good for once. But you just ending up getting hurt. _Tears seeped from Melina’s eyes._ If you die-_

_If I die, _Janice whispered, _then at least I’ll be with you. _Janice showed her a faint memory- she was wiping Melina’s tears away with her thumb.

With this, it was as if a wall had ascended inside her mind. Melina was flooded with images of herself.

Her younger, healthier self- meeting Janice, the two of them rehearsing, playing the piano together, taking the dog out, staying up too late at sleepovers…

Her crying with Janice when she got back from the hospital...

Her growing paler, thinner, but Janice still believing she was beautiful nonetheless... Her saying goodbye before they left for the island... Her waving from the balcony when Janice finally came to visit...

Walking along the beach arm in arm... Watching the sunset on Melina’s last day... Janice wishing she was brave enough to tell Melina...

But it was too late- Melina was giving Janice her pendant, holding her hand, her grip getting weaker-

Melina’s grip tightened on the wire above her. _You are _**_not_**_ dying here, Janice Quatlane._

She felt Janice’s love and pride flow through her. _I think the professor and Luke agree with you…_

Melina heard a propeller. She gasped and turned her head. Yes, there they were, hovering in front of Descole’s robot.

_They wouldn’t be here without you, _Janice reminded her.

The robot’s claw took a swipe at the helicopter. A tiny figure- _Luke!_\- leapt out. Melina watched, open-mouthed, as he fell past her and landed on a platform below.

_Great_, Janice remarked. _Now who’s going to save _**_him?_ **

Melina said patiently, _Give him a chance-_

The ‘platform’ Luke had landed on started spinning.

_Why didn’t the professor bring his assistant? _Janice wondered. _She fought off those henchmen and all those wolves! She’s super strong, and pretty… Um, sorry._

_No, you’re right, _Melina agreed. The pair of them sighed.


	13. Adrenaline (Bloom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, Leonard Bloom was not renowned for his athletic prowess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Fugitive situation, Bloom being offensive  
Spoilers: For Azran Legacy  
Set: Just after Azran Legacy  
Song: Runnin' by Adam Lambert

_"After him!"_

Needless to say, Leonard Bloom was not renowned for his athletic prowess. He had only run a mile and he was already panting. 

During his training days, he had been physically outmatched by everyone, including Bronev’s niece, who was six years his junior. 

Where was _she_ now? Was she sitting in a cell next to Bronev, or was she a fugitive like Bloom?

All those years of studying, licking boots, and lying to just about everyone he came into contact with... What had it amounted to?

Targent had eventually recognised Bloom’s talents and granted him a post at Scotland Yard. He had aced all of his exams (except the fitness test- those results had been forged) and worked his way up through the Force. 

Countless cases had been solved thanks to him. The citizens of London could sleep soundly knowing he was on the job. 

Meanwhile, he had been aiding Targent in their goals- facilitating thefts, diverting police attention and misplacing the odd missing person report. 

Until now, Bloom had never felt a shred of sympathy for the archaeologists taken in by Targent. Most of them would leap at the chance to join the agency, but if they dared to leave, they would be hunted down. 

The Nest was a lethal labyrinth compared to the back alleys of London. 

Bloom had worked in this city for over a decade and yet he couldn’t think of a single safe space to hide. 

His apartment had probably been reduced to dust by this point. His former office was off limits. The police would pounce on him if he came within a hundred steps of their headquarters. They would throw him behind bars and most likely give him a life sentence. Still, at least his life would be spared... 

Regrettably, it wasn’t his old colleagues from the Yard coming after him. Then he might have had some chance of escaping due to their sense of mercy and general incompetency. 

He hadn’t wasted time trying to identify his pursuers, but based on their black sunglasses (worn on a dark evening), he had guessed they were Targent. The dregs of a dying organisation. 

Hands snagged the ends his jacket as he dashed around a corner. He slipped out of the jacket- a gift from his dilettante brother- and ran right into a dead end. 

Bloom placed his palm against a wall- far too high for him to climb. 

“Nowhere left to go,” a woman said behind him. 

Turning, Bloom got a good look at his soon-to-be assailants. He had been expecting hitmen like the ones that had been sent after Inspector Grosky. (Or was it _superintendent _now, since Grosky had helped defeat Targent?)

Bloom had in fact been cornered by two women- one was blonde and the other was in a wheelchair. 

He had been caught by someone who didn’t even appear to have _legs._

“Well,” Bloom snorted, “Targent must be desperate-“

“We’re not _with_ Targent,” snapped the blonde woman. 

“But we used to be,” her friend in the wheelchair said, “just like you…”

“_Targent 2.O_, is it?” Bloom sneered. Swift was surely next in line to become their leader-

A figure dropped down from the wall above, landing right beside Bloom. Bloom’s heart leapt in his throat. He backed into a corner. 

“Intelligent services, actually,” the newcomer corrected him. He was smaller than Bloom and he was smiling. 

Trying to reclaim some scrap of dignity, Bloom demanded, “What do you want then?” 

“To make you a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sick and I've fallen behind with these daily prompts. I'll try to catch up, but we'll see how that works out..


	14. Tear-stained (Hannah & Bloom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "C-can I stay here tonight?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Unwanted sexual attention and discussions of such. Questioning asexual character headcanons.  
Spoilers: For Azran Legacy  
Set: After the Bloom and Hannah bonus episode during AL  
Song: Sinners by Lauren Aquilina

"C-can I stay here tonight?"

Bloom didn’t recall giving Hannah his new address, but there she was, shivering on his doorstep. Her cheeks were stained with tears and mascara.

"What happened?" Bloom drawled. He peered at her through the crack in the door. She was wearing a strappy dark blue dress- and she was bare foot. "Where are your _shoes_?" Without her high heels and her ridiculously-sized hat, Hannah was considerably shorter... and more vulnerable.

"Please," Hannah begged. Her breath hitched. "I can’t go home... "

Bloom shut the door on her. He heard her let out a strangled noise of despair. When he removed the chain and opened up again, she gasped, "Th-thank you!"

As she rushed in, he caught a whiff of wine, perfume, and expensive cologne.

"Were you followed?" Bloom said in a low voice.

Hannah shook her head. Her loose curls rippled like a red flag.

Bloom did a check outside before he double-locked the door.

He turned back to Hannah. Her arms were folded and she was gazing at the floor. If she were her usual irritating self, she would probably comment on his tatty carpet. But this empty silence... it didn’t suit her at all.

"Are you hurt?" Bloom asked.

"No..." She sounded uncertain. "I was just... just scared."

Bloom had to restrain himself from questioning her further. Now wasn’t the time. Not when Hannah looked like she might fall apart at any moment.

He told her to help herself to a glass of water and anything from the fridge. (Not that there was much choice there.) He pointed her towards the bathroom; she could borrow soap, toothpaste, shampoo- whatever she needed, except his hair gel. 

While she was cleaning herself up, he tossed some pillows and a spare blanket onto the settee. Then he knocked on the bathroom door and informed her he was going to bed. If there was any trouble, she could call him.

She didn’t reply. Bloom shrugged and went to his bedroom.

Hannah was so quiet that he almost forgot she was there. He found her the next morning with her head resting on the kitchen table. He cleared his throat and she sat up. Bloom stared. 

"I don’t look _that_ bad, do I?" Hannah snorted. It was a bitter snort, but at least some of her haughtiness had returned.

"No worse than usual," Bloom replied. "I’ve just never seen you without makeup before..."

It seemed as if she had scrubbed her face raw. Her eyes looked heavy, but her lashes were invisible without mascara. Her usually rosy-red lips were dry and set in a thin frown. And was that...?

"Oh my word-" Bloom covered his mouth in mock-horror. "Is that a _zit?"_

"Ha, ha," Hannah said dryly. "I couldn't care less."

Bloom took the seat opposite her and steepled his fingers. "You seemed to care a lot last night," he prompted.

Hannah sealed her lips and averted her gaze.

"Coffee?" Bloom offered. If there was anything Bloom had learned in their short partnership, it was that Hannah liked chatting over coffee, and she liked her coffee with plenty of cream.

He needed to approach her as a concerned friend, rather than a interrogator questioning a suspect.

Hannah sipped her coffee.

"I barely knew him," she began. She stirred her drink. "It was our second date, and he took me out to dinner. He paid for the meal and he even bought me flowers..."

"So, what went wrong?"

"We went back to my house and we watched a movie. It was nice..." She took a longer sip, as if the coffee was giving her strength. She wiped her mouth and mumbled, "But he wanted to take things further."

Bloom tried to keep a straight face, but his eyes narrowed. "He _didn't-"_

"No," Hannah said, with certainty this time. "I said no and he got angry. He fell asleep soon after, and that’s when I came here." (For his sake, he better not still be at her house.)

"Are you going to see him again?"

"I won't- not after this."

Bloom leaned back in his seat. "It sounded like you were enjoying yourself before... things got intimate." Bloom hummed. "Romance, flowers, bulging biceps... I thought you loved that sort of thing?"

"Romance, yes," Hannah sighed. "It’s what comes after that I’m not a huge fan of. Or at least... It depends on who I'm with."

"What if Grosky declared his undying love to you on the spot? Would you go for it then?"

Hannah huffed, "He doesn’t even know my name... When I last ran into him, he’s the one who made me realise... that's how I feel. I am grateful to him for opening my eyes." She stood up. "I will continue to support Clamp Grosky, nevertheless!"

"Best of luck with that," Bloom quipped.

Hannah glared at him. The fire was back in her eyes. "I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand!"

"No, you wouldn’t." He did, however, understand having nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

For the first time in his life, he felt he had reached a level of stability. He wasn't exactly on the straight and narrow- he never would be- but that line he had once walked between working for the law and against it had vanished.

Now that his days as a double agent were over, one might think Bloom would pursue an intimate relationship of his own...

"I’ll accompany you back to your house," Bloom decided, standing up.

Hannah adjusted the strap of her dress. "I really do look like a wreck," she confessed. "Bloom, you don't suppose-?"

"No, you are not borrowing any of my clothes, ever."

...Or not.


	15. Scars (Randall & Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A map of scars covered Randall’s skin, stark white against his tan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Scars, and Randall/Henry shipping. Not that that in itself requires a warning, but people like to know what they're getting in to.  
Spoilers: For Miracle Mask  
Set: Between the scenes shown in the credits of Miracle Mask  
Song: Something Wild by Lindsey Stirling

After Randall’s hair had been cut, Henry insisted on getting him some new clothes. Fortunately, Henry had a wardrobe— an entire _room— _prepared for his return.

The room was on the mansion’s first floor, offering a magnificent view of Monte d’Or.

It appeared newly furnished, or maybe everything within had just been kept in mint condition. The curtains effused a floral scent as they fluttered in the breeze. The king-sized bed was freshly made. The green carpet was plush and spotless— so much that Randall felt the need to remove his shoes as he followed Henry in.

Randall recognised some keepsakes from his teenage bedroom back in Stansbury: Photos, books and treasures he had collected. 

Everything in this room… in this house… in this_ city _apparently belonged to Randall. And he had almost destroyed it all…

From now on, he wouldn’t rest until he had to made it up to Henry— and Angela. He could start by burning the Masked Gentleman’s costume.

Henry wasn’t keen on that idea (Monte d’Or had suffered enough without adding _wildfire _to the list) but he promised they could dispose of the costume as soon as Randall had changed.

Of course, Henry meant change_ clothes_, but Randall was determined to find an outfit that would reflect a change in _himself. _Something that harkened back to the energy of his youth, while also showing how he had matured.

Thankfully, he was spoiled for choice with the clothes Henry had assembled. The wardrobe was so spacious that he would probably stumble into Narnia. (He _wished…_)

There was casual dress like jeans and jumpers, outdoor wear should he fancy taking an adventure, and formal attire for fancier events.

Randall poked his tongue out at a white tuxedo— definitely a _no. _

He hummed when he pulled out a plain white shirt with a collar— something that would suit Henry. Would Henry mind if Randall dressed like him?

As a child, Henry had been given hand-me-downs from Randall. But they weren’t children anymore. The last thing Randall wanted to do was steal Henry’s style. He had already stolen his city…

Randall swallowed and continued rummaging through the wardrobe.

His gaze settled on purple wool— a sweater vest. It was a similar shade to the jacket Randall had favoured as a teen.

Randall held the sweater vest against the white shirt. He might look like a total prep, but at least he wouldn’t be copying Henry completely.

On to the bottom half…

Though his legs were still in good shape, he couldn’t get away with wearing skinny jeans or shorts if he was going to help run the city. He had to look like a _refined gentleman._

Hershel had his dark trousers, his high-collared coat and his top hat, to boot.

There were some ties, ascots and other accessories on hooks in the wardrobe, but Randall vehemently turned away from them.

He hadn’t gone by the name ‘Ascot’ for eighteen years, until Descole came along. Even then, Descole had always addressed him as ‘Ascot’, never ‘Randall’…

Randall squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he saw a pair of pale green trousers. It was another colour that would suit Henry better, but it made Randall feel… peaceful— and nostalgic.

He remembered racing across the fields in Stansbury, hiding in the reeds down by the river, roaming through the forest with his friends… He thought of Tannenbaum’s straw hat, willow trees, gathering wheat in the summer… It felt like _home_.

Smiling, he placed the green trousers on the bed below the white shirt and the purple sweater vest. He threw off his Masked Gentleman ensemble with relish.

He’d only just put on the trousers when there was a knock at the door.

“Master Randall…?”

“You can come in, Henry!”

“Did you find some—“ Henry froze as he opened the door. “Ah, f-forgive me! I thought you were ready!”

Randall laughed at his reddening face. _“Relax! _I’m half-decent!_” _He gestured to the green trousers below his bare torso.

“V-very nice…” Henry still wouldn’t look at Randall properly.

“I _think_ you’ve known me long enough to see me without a shirt,” Randall said, puffing out his chest. “How many times did you walk in on me when we were younger?”

Henry mumbled, “That was years ago…”

_Eighteen_ long years ago for Henry. Randall had only gotten his memory back recently.

“Right, sorry…” Randall sighed, deflating. He grabbed the white shirt and turned so he had his back to Henry.

“Your _back!” _Henry exclaimed in alarm.

Randall yanked on one side of the shirt, huffing, “_Alright, _I won’t be a second—“

“No, Master Randall…!” Henry edged across the room. He raised his hands to point. “I mean the… the _scars _on your back!”

A map of scars covered Randall’s skin, stark white against his tan.

“Oh, yeah…” Randall shrugged. “Those are from falling into the river. Rocks are sharp.” He said it as casually as if he was describing a tattoo. Such a tattoo artist would have taken a needle and torn it across his back.

“Does it… still hurt?” asked Henry.

“Not anymore. The wounds did, when I first woke up in Craggy Dale. The villagers had me bandaged up like a mummy…” 

His shot at humour only horrified Henry even more. “You could have died,” Henry breathed.

“Didn’t I tell you— I made a full recovery! Some of these scars are just from working on the farm…” Tannebaum had started him off with menial tasks and only let him do the heavier lifting months after he was fit.

Henry’s hands hovered over Randall’s back. “May I…?”

“Go ahead.”

Henry brushed his fingers along a particularly large scar between Randall’s left shoulder blade. His touch was surprisingly soft.

Randall shuddered and Henry drew his hand away.

“Sorry!” Henry gasped.

“Honestly,” Randall reassured him, “it doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Still, there must be something we can do about those scars. You could go to the hospital—“

“I’m sure they’re too busy to see _me_ right now,” Randall grumbled. He’d heard the emergency services were overwhelmed due to his giant sand wave.

“Okay… What about this balm Angela bought from the pharmacy?”

Randall wondered, “Have _you _ever used it?” (That would explain why Henry’s hands were so soft.)

“Once or twice…” Henry admitted. “It really works miracles.”

“If you say so, I guess I’ll give it a go.” Randall pulled on the other side of the shirt and started doing up the buttons. “But they’re never going to fade completely, and I’m fine with that. It’s what I deserv—“

“No, it’s _not,” _Henry said sharply. He grabbed the collar of Randall’s shirt, holding on for a moment. “You were _seventeen_, for goodness’ sake— you didn’t deserve _any _of that.”

“Henry…”

Henry suddenly realised how close their heads were. He fixed the shirt collar, stepped back and cleared his throat. “Now, um… if you’re quite finished showing off your scars, we have afternoon tea scheduled at the Reunion Inn in fifteen minutes.” 

“Will you be _serving _the tea?” Randall smirked. “Or ordering everyone else around?”

_“Fifteen _minutes, Master Randall!” Henry scurried out of the room.

“You forgot the costume,” Randall called, kicking the Masked Gentleman’s suit.

_“You can throw it in with the rest of the washing!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic inspired some fanart from the amazing lytorika on Tumblr! Here’s the link: https://lytorika.tumblr.com/post/188839539223/warmupsketch-fanart-for-101flavoursofweirds


	16. Pinned Down (Angela & Dalston)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #16: Pinned Down (Angela & Dalston)
> 
> "ALPHONSE!" Angela shrieked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Animal attack  
Spoilers: For Miracle Mask, I guess  
Set: Before Miracle Mask  
Song: Kids Again by Artist Vs Poet

“Are you sure the ringmaster won’t mind?” Angela asked as she followed Alphonse into the circus tent.

There were clowns, dancers and other troupe members dashing about, preparing for tonight’s show. (They looked more hectic than Henry when he was on a cleaning spree.)

“‘Course he won’t,” Alphonse scoffed. “I’ve paid for most of it— and you’re a VIP!”

Alphonse had given her tickets for the best seats in the house, along with a backstage pass to meet the circus’s star performer.

This invitation had implicitly applied to Henry as well, as Angela’s ‘plus-one’, but he had claimed he was too busy to join them. For once, Angela didn’t try to divert him from his duties.

She was just glad to get out of the mansion and to catch up with Alphonse. He was less… competitive when Henry’s wasn’t present. 

Angela smiled as Alphonse led her past the stage. He was as excited as a child showing off his new pet.

Alphonse came to a stop and announced, “Here he is! The fearsome… the ferocious… _Hannibal!”_

“A _white tiger,_” Angela gasped. She had never seen one in real life before. They were one of those rare creatures that could have easily been a myth, like a unicorn or a jackalope. The idea of seeing a white tiger here— in the _desert— _was ludicrous.

But there he was, dozing in a cage, three steps away from her.

The tiger’s ears perked up as soon as Alphonse approached him.

Alphonse hollered, “Eh up, Maurice!”

“I thought you said his name was ‘Hannibal’?” Angela said. (‘Maurice’ definitely sounded less ferocious…)

“Shhh! That’s his _stage _name.” Alphonse winked. “‘Maurice’ to his friends. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Maurice swung his big paw between the bars. Angela took a tiny step back, but Alphonse stayed right where he was, inches from the cage.

“Awww, look!” Alphonse cooed. “He’s _waving _at you.”

Angela gave him a small wave in return. “Does he… have enough room in there?” she wondered.

“That’s just where he sleeps before the show,” Alphonse explained. “But we can let him out if you want…”

“L-let him _out?” _squeaked Angela. “Shouldn’t we check with his, um, trainers first?”

She had heard horror stories of animals turning on their owners— dogs, lions, bears… Even the the local cranes in Monte d’Or had been known to swipe at tourists with their taloned feet.

Her brother had been kicked by a horse when they were little. All Angela had done was scream.

Alphonse snorted noncholantly. _“Nah! _He’s perfectly tame— and he’s my best mate!”

Still, Angela crept back even further as Alphonse unlocked the cage. Before he could open the door, Maurice burst out with a growl.

_“Watch out!” _Angela cried.

She had always revered Alphonse Dalston as a sturdy, invulnerable man. But Maurice knocked him flat on his back and pinned him to the floor. Alphonse might as well have been a captured rabbit.

“Easy…” he spluttered beneath Maurice’s heavy paws. How sharp were Maurice’s _claws? _Were they trimmed down by his trainers, or were they retracted?

Angela could see him tearing out Alphonse’s insides.Her heart pounded like it was trying to escape from her ribcage— to save Alphonse.

She looked around frantically. Where was the ringmaster? Wasn’t there a troupe member who could help?

Alphonse moaned, “No… _Please, no—!”_

Angela glanced back. Maurice’s mouth was hanging open above Alphonse’s head. His teeth looked sharper than Mrs Ascot’s knitting needles.

He went for Alphonse’s face.

“ALPHONSE!”

Angela’s shriek died in her throat when she heard Alphonse_ laughing_. Maurice was licking his face. 

“Alright, alright, you’ve had your fun,” Alphonse chortled, shoving Maurice’s chops away from him. Maurice made a chuffing noise and moved off Alphonse’s chest.

Alphonse sat up and grinned at Angela. “See? Nothing to worry about—“

_“Alphonse Dalston!” _Angela’s voice was a snarl. She surged towards him so fiercely that Maurice flinched.

Lifting his hands, Alphonse backed away. “Easy, Ange—“

“You… you _imbecile! _Don’t you _ever _scare me like that again!” Her heart was still hammering— from fury or fear or both.

Alphonse dropped his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly for him. “And Maurice is too.” (Maurice grumbled and rested his head on the floor.) “See? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

She clutched her hands over her chest, trying to compose herself. “Yes, I can see that now,” she sighed. “I just… overreacted.” She’d thought she had grown past this sort of thing.

“It’s only ‘cause you care,” Alphonse consoled. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Anyone else in the city— maybe even Henry— would have believed they were overstepping a barrier surrounding Angela. But not Alphonse.

He patted her on the shoulder and pushed her towards the stands. “The show’s starting soon. We should get to our seats.”

“What about Maurice?” Angela said, glancing back at the tiger.

“He’s needed on stage. Shake a leg, Maurice!”

Maurice waved his paw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this prompt was meant to be the angsty scene where Luke and Layton get captured by cult members in LMJ. But nah... Here we have Dalston and Angela hanging out with a tiger instead.


	17. "Stay with me?" (Katia & Sophia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #17: "Stay with me?" (Katia & Sophia)  
"Iris?" Sophia rasped.  
"No..." Katia said gently. "It's me-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Character on the brink of death, old age, illness, memory loss  
Spoilers: For Pandora's Box  
Set: About a year before the events of PL2  
Song: Once Upon A December from Anastasia

“Hi, Grandmother…”

Sophia’s eyes slipped open. She didn’t lift her head from the green pillows, but her gaze, hazy with painkillers, drifted towards Katia. She blinked slowly before she rasped, “Iris?”

“No…” Katia brushed her fringe off her face. “It’s-“

“Iris,” Sophia insisted warmly. “How is everything, sweetheart?”

Katia swallowed and replied shakily, “O-okay…”

“Is Andy busy? Honestly, that boy never knows when to stop!”

It was funny hearing her father referred to as a ‘boy’. Despite everything, Katia let out a wobbly laugh. “He… he’s not working at the moment.” He was downstairs, consoling the relatives and friends crowded on their doorstep.

Sophia released a weak chuckle. “Good, good… You watch him now!”

Katia hadn’t breathed a word to him about her plan to leave. It didn’t matter that Katia was turning _eighteen_next year. Her father blamed the upheaval in Folsense for Sophia’s deteriorating health now. (Even though Sophia had lived on fifty years since she had left the town.)

The fear of letting Katia go _there _so soon after losing Sophia… it would break her father’s heart.

But Katia imagined his joy if- _when-_ she returned home with her grandfather, reuniting their family.

“I will,” Katia promised.

Silence settled between them for several moments. Katia both dreaded and hoped Sophia would remember Iris had had a daughter. She _couldn’t _forget Katia- not before they said goodbye…

“I’ll find Grandfather,” Katia gasped out, “just like you wanted.”

_‘Grandfather?” _Sophia squinted at her. She huffed, “Don’t be silly, Abby! He died _years_ ago.”

…So had Great Aunt Abigail.

“Sorry,” Katia corrected herself. “I meant _Anton.”_

Katia thought Sophia had finally recognised her when her eyes widened. Then Sophia whispered, “Anton…?”

As much as it hurt, Katia managed to smile.

“Oh, Anton,” Sophia sighed. “You got my message?”

Biting her lip, Katia nodded.

“I missed you… so much, my dear. But you’re here now. Can you stay with me?”

Sophia’s arm was connected to an IV drip, but she reached out her hand. Katia took it.

“I’m s-sorry I had to leave.” Sophia started to tremble. “I was scared that if your father found out, he found force me to stay. I was carrying his heir- _our _child. Iris.”

Katia wondered if she should say something or call for the nurse, but thankfully, the troubling memories passed for Sophia.

A smile rose on Sophia’s face, radiant as the sun. “She’s so _beautiful_, Anton. She has your eyes, and she’s fearless, just like you. I’m so happy you two could meet.”

She patted Katia’s hand. Katia squeezed hers in return.

Sophia yawned. “Forgive me… I’m quite tired…”

“You can rest now- if you want,” Katia whimpered. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you, dear…” Sophia shut her eyes. What little strength she had left her hand.

“Grandmother?” Katia tried. Sophia’s chest continued to rise and fall faintly. Her lips were still curved in a soft smile. She looked so peaceful that Katia couldn’t bear to wake her again.

Katia rested Sophia’s hand on the bed and stood up, careful not to scrape the chair across the floor.

She crept out of the room and past the nurse, who returned to Sophia’s bedside.

Dorothea was waiting for Katia on the upstairs landing. Throwing herself into Dorothea’s arms, Katia finally dissolved into sobs.

The visitors downstairs would hear her, but surely they would understand, because it felt like she had lost her grandmother, her mother and herself all in one blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should change the title to Whump-vember...


	18. Muffled Scream (Angela, Dalston & Henry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #18: Muffled Scream (Angela, Dalston & Henry)  
There were no hints that a struggle had taken place… and no sign of Henry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Kidnapping  
Spoilers: For Miracle Mask  
Set: A role-reversal AU for Miracle Mask where Descole disguises himself as Henry instead. This was originally a writing prompt from @samcybercat which I extended because I haven't updated this fic in like a month. Also, more Stansbury gang angst, yay.  
Song: Hold On by Chord Overstreet

The bearded old man passed Angela the key and finally left them alone in the hallway.

She traded a determined look with Dalston and unlocked the door.

Dalston offered to go first before calling her in. 

A sigh of joint relief and frustration escaped her as she surveyed the obsidian suite. It was just as gaudy as the room she had shared with Henry on their wedding night. 

There were no hints that a struggle had taken place… and no sign of Henry. 

Dubiously, Dalston hollered, “Eh up! Ledore, you in here-?” 

He was cut off by a muffled scream from the closet.

With a gasp, Angela tore open the closet door.

Bedraggled, bruised, and bound in rope, but beyond a shadow of a doubt— there was Henry.

Nothing like the imposter who had craved the Mask of Order, corrupted their home, and threatened Angela and Mrs Ascot. 

The real Henry had poured every penny he’d earned into the search for Randall and building a safe haven for his return. Despite his unfair dismissal from Ascot Manor, he had invited Randall’s parents to both stay with him in Monte d’Or.

He had given Angela a choice. He had kept her hope alive.

_Without Henry… _

Henry blinked at her fuzzily as she flung her arms around him.

She didn’t care if this was _too close _for the two of them. She didn’t care that, just yesterday, the fake-Henry had attempted to kiss her. 

This was _her _Henry and all she cared about in that moment was him.

Henry was mumbling something.

Dalston cleared his throat. “_Ange?”_

“Oh— sorry, Henry…” She gently pulled back from him and removed the cloth from his mouth. 

Henry spluttered, “Master Randall is _t__he Masked Gentleman—“_

“We know,” Dalston said flatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can pry Yorkshire Dalston from my dying hands.


	19. Asphyxiation (Arianna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #19: Asphyxiation (Arianna)  
All along, Arianna had known on some level. But when Professor Layton pointed at her father, Evan Barde, she felt as if she had plummeted into ice water. (AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Breathlessness, thought of vomiting, character death, questionable parents
> 
> Spoilers: For Spectre’s Call 
> 
> Set: A Spectre’s Call AU, set during the ‘Reveal Scene’
> 
> Song: It’s Alright by Mother Mother

“And that person is _you!”_

All along, Arianna had known on some level. But when Professor Layton pointed at her father, she felt as if she had plummeted into ice water.

Her father’s blue eyes widened and Arianna let herself believe, just for a moment, that there had been a mistake.

But how could she deny everything that had happened in the last six months? Her father’s swift recovery from his fall, his sporadic disappearances, his strict orders to the townspeople…

He had become so obsessed with finding the Golden Garden. Initially, he had claimed it was for Arianna’s sake, but why had he neglected her and Tony? Why had he disapproved of their friendship with Loosha? Why had he publicly accused Loosha of destroying the town— along with Luke? Why had he turned on the Triton family?

“You must be confused, Layton,” he said airily. “I’m the _mayor. _I have all the riches I could need. What could I possibly hope to gain by demolishing Misthallery?”

The professor went on to reveal how he had threatened to indict Luke if Clark didn’t keep quiet about his plan. As the mayor, and with Chief Jakes’ aid, he was able to cover up the spectre attacks and move people out of their homes.

Luckily, Luke had noticed the low water levels in the canals with the help of his ‘informant’, Toppy.

Luke could talk to animals. That was what Arianna had told her father once, and she had regretted it ever since. 

When Clark began his investigation, Luke had been branded the ‘calamity witch’ who could communicate with the spectre. 

Guiltily, Arianna met Luke’s gaze across the plaza. He was tied up in front of Loosha. Neither of them would hurt so much as a fly.

Luke’s parents both looked like they wanted to punch Chief Jakes and free Luke. The professor, however, gestured for them to wait.

“It is clear enough that you are not Evan Barde, mayor of Misthallery. So tell us who you really are.”

The man who was not Arianna’s father slowly stepped forward. Then, his face changed. His eyes became wild, almost cast in shadow. His smile curled into a cruel sneer.

“You are correct, Layton.” Her father’s soft tenor tone turned deeper, darker. “It’s time to end this… charade.” In a whirlwind of movement, he donned a black hat, a white theatre mask and a flowing grey cape.

The entire town seemed to gasp… All except for Arianna.

She felt sick. Physically sick, like she might throw up. Her hand flew to her mouth.

_“Papa!” _Tony voiced her terror. _“Where’s our papa? _What did you _do _to him?” he screamed at the masked man.

“Your foolish father perished when he fell from that cliff,” he informed them callously. “Consider yourselves fortunate.”

_Why, Papa?_

A sob was building behind Arianna’s hand.

He had _promised._ After their mother walked out, he had promised he would never leave them.

Arianna was meant to be the one who died. It had been easier to accept this, knowing Tony would still have Papa.

But now, Papa was dead.

And Luke, her most trusted friend in the world, just kept hammering it in.

_“You _killed Mr Barde!” Luke snarled, squirming away from Jakes. “_Both_ of you! And you blackmailed my dad when he found out!”

Jakes stammered, “No… No! Barde’s death was an accident!”

“A _tragedy, _nonetheless,” the masked man drawled. “I’m sure the townsfolk will demand justice for the death of their _beloved mayor…” _He swept his arms towards the people of Misthallery.

The police didn’t put him in handcuffs. There were no cries of outrage. Not one person reacted.

Arianna shook.

Tony gazed at the crowd hopelessly. “P-please…” He trailed off when Clark clasped him by the shoulders.

The masked man hummed loudly. “What’s this? No retaliation? Could they all have, perhaps, seen my disguise as an _improvement—?”_

“That’s _enough!” _Brenda snapped, stepping next to Arianna. “You’ve done nothing but oppress the town and pin the blame on my son! A _ten-year-old boy!”_

“You’re making this very _personal,_” their oppressor pointed out. “Do you believe your poor _wealthy_ family are the only ones who have suffered?”

A murmur rippled through the residents.

Tony turned his head towards Clark’s chest, as if he could drown out the noise.

Clark raised his voice over the murmurs. “The suffering you’ve caused _everyone _will end here.”

When _would _it end? Why did the Tritons have to drag this out?

The masked man huffed, “Ask _everyone_. Barde deserved what he got—“

“No, he DIDN’T!”

All eyes in the plaza went to Arianna. Her hand was over her heart.

“Papa _wasn’t _a good person,” she gasped. “I see that now…” She thought she spotted Crow, Roddy and the other market children amongst the crowd. “He wronged the residents of Misthallery— he took your homes, your money, and your jobs. For that, I’m truly sorry…”

She aimed a glare at the masked man— the monster who had pretended to care for her for six months. “But he was a good _father! Not like you!”_

She could have sworn he flinched slightly.

…Or maybe that was because of Loosha. Loosha tore her way out of the net and batted Jakes aside with her flipper.

But_ how…?_

Luke was free as well. When he ran into Brenda’s arms, Arianna noticed Toppy riding on his shoulder.

“Your ‘little friend’ chewed through the ropes,” Clark observed. “Nice work.”

_“See!” _Jakes grunted, rolling away from Loosha. “That monster _attacked_ me!” _ _

_“_She easily could have squashed you,” Luke retorted, “but she_ didn’t.”_

Jakes barked at his subordinates. “Don’t just _stand there_! Catch the beast!”

The police officers glanced at each other and back at Jakes. They threw down the weapons they had used to capture Loosha earlier.

Someone hollered from the crowd, “No one’s takin’ orders from_ you _anymore!”

“Yeah!”

“You’re _disgusting!”_

“Get out of town!”

“This is bad… This is _bad…”_ Jakes turned to the masked man. “What do we do now?”

The man chuckled. “As you’ve proved yourself to be such an inept dullard, allow_ me_ to unearth the Golden Garden… right after I’ve put this irritating creature _down.” _

The excavating machine Emmy had brought to the plaza sprung to life. It wasn’t alone.

_Two… five_… _seven _more machines smashed their way on to the scene.

Any sense of sympathy taken up by the residents was instantly replaced by panic. It was every man for himself.

Clark, Brenda and Layton rushed Luke, Arianna and Tony into an alleyway.

_“Loosha,” _Tony whimpered. They watched as she wasthrown against a wall by one of the machines.

“We have to do something,” Brenda breathed. “Any ideas, Hershel?”

“I’m just waiting for—“

_“The calvary is here_,” Emmy declared from behind them.

Arianna spun around. The ‘calvary’ consisted of Emmy and the market kids.

“The Black Ravens, at your service,” Crow added. He smiled— actually smiled— and tipped his cap to Arianna. “So… since we're helping, could you do us a favour and lower your father’s rent—?”

Emmy knocked the cap off of his head._ “Not _the time.”


	20. Trembling (Espella & Eve)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London was burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Nightmare, fire, questionable parenting (I'm not a fan of the Storyteller)... Also contains Eve/Espella.  
Spoilers: For PLvsAA  
Set: Sometime after PLvsAA  
Song: Fire, Fire by Flyleaf

London was burning.

The bridges, the palaces, the towers, the monuments, the buildings… Everything was consumed by the blaze.

All Espella could do was watch. High up in Big Ben, trapped behind the giant clock-face, she was out of the flames’ reach.

She could still feel the heat, scalding as an iron against her skin. But she dared not turn away or shut her stinging eyes.

There was no denying it. _She _had caused this. Not some fabled witch. Not her fanatic father. Not her misguided friend. 

Espella alone was to blame.

In her trembling hands, she clutched Eve’s molten gold pendant. Only the ruby jewel remained intact.

It was all she had left of Eve.

Eve was nothing but ash now, along with Aunt Patty, Mr Layton, Mr Wright, Maya, Luke, Carmine…

The list went on and on. Every person Espella had ever loved. Big Ben tolled for each of them.

At last, the ruby melted, soaking Espella’s fingers.

Gasping, Espella threw her red palms against the clock-face. She tried to paint the shape of a dragon or a shade or a witch, but none of them existed.

It was just Espella.

* * *

“It’s me_… _It was_ me…!”_

_“Espella!” _There was Eve’s voice, cooler than a splash of fountain water.

“E…_Eve…”_ Espella’s breath shuddered out of her. She was burning but it was… dark?

Light flooded her surroundings. Espella flinched, until she realised Eve had flicked on the electric lamp. 

The lamp at the inn… no, their _hotel _room in London.

That’s right— she and Eve were visiting London for the week. It was meant to be an exciting, enlightening trip for them both.

But Espella’s nightmares had followed them from Labyrinthia…

Espella screwed her eyes shut, but the shameful, terrified tears still escaped.

“Espella,” Eve said, softer now. “Are you… alright?”

It was Eve’s _concern_— something Espella didn’t deserve in the slightest— that made her sob.

Eve reached across the bed and wrapped her arms around Espella. Espella wept into her shoulder. All the while, Eve stroked her hair, mumuring soothing lies. 

_“It’s not you. It was never you… You’re so gentle and brave and noble… Our story doesn’t have a happy beginning, but look at how far you’ve come!… Yes, everyone at home is struggling, but they’re getting better… I’m here… I won’t let you go, Espella…”_

After several minutes, Espella’s sobs died down. She could pretend she had fallen asleep in Eve’s arms— it was so tempting to slip into that comatose state— but then Eve asked, “What did you see?”

Espella swallowed, stalling for time.

“Was it the fire?”

Espella nodded against Eve’s shoulder. “London,” Espella mumbled.

Eve sighed. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone to that museum.”

Espella whispered, “Which one?” She had learned so much from the Science Museum, but the National Gallery was her favourite…

“The one where they talked about the Great Fire of London,” Eve grumbled, “from the 17th-century.”

“That’s…” Espella struggled to remember. _“Three _centuries ago?”

“Approximately, yes... _A long, long time ago,” _Eve recited in a dramatic tone that both she and Espella found comforting. Eve was no Storyteller, though. She spoke the truth.

_“The flames started at a mere baker’s shop. The baker believed he had extinguished the flames… but he was wrong. That summer, it was unusually dry and hot in London. Thanks to a strong wind and wooden houses, the fire soon spread through the streets. People fled to the river and beyond the city gates. London burned for five days.”_

Eve shifted so she was staring into Espella’s eyes.

Eve said, “Tell me, is the_ baker _to blame?”

“N-no,” Espella sniffled. “Not if it was an accident…” (Carmine had almost set Patty’s bakery on fire once.)

“What about the _builders?”_ Eve wondered. “Weren’t they foolish for making houses out of timber?”

Espella shook her head. “Maybe they didn’t know better?”

“Maybe the _king _should have taken greater care of his subjects,” Eve muttered.

Or maybe the king was too worried about his deranged daughter. Who knew?

_“Regardless,_” Eve continued briskly, _“London was rebuilt after the fire. Measures were put in place to ensure that such a disaster would never happen again. Slowly but surely, the people recovered and resumed their lives…”_

_“How?” _Espella breathed.

Eve didn’t seem to have an answer. She looked away for a moment and then back at Espella. Her grip tightened and she brushed a kiss against Espella’s cheek.

“We’ll find out together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tower is called Elizabeth Tower, not Big Ben... but Espella's a hopeless tourist, give her a break.  
At the time of the Great Fire of London, Charles II was king of England. He actually did quite a lot to help fight the fire. The people loved him as much as he loved spaniels and partying.


	21. Laced Drink (Swift)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Swift wound his arms around his stomach, doubling over. He was too weak to fight. Too weak to shout for help. He was going to die here.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Laced drink, poisoning, blood, mentions of kidnapping and death  
Spoilers: For Azran Legacy, some spoilers for Miracle Mask  
Set: After AL and Swift’s bonus episode  
Song: Centuries by Imagine Dragons

When Swift was elected Targent’s leader, he had refused to move in to Bronev’s office. It was much too lofty for Swift’s tastes and he would rather not be surrounded by reminders of Bronev. (They couldn’t strip the office, unfortunately, at the risk of damaging the precious artefacts within.)

Besides, Swift barely visited his current office enough as it was. He preferred being out in the field, investigating Azran ruins, or working alongside the other scientists at Obsidian Tower.

Swift was just leaving the lab that evening, when he encountered an agent he couldn’t recall the name of.

The agent was young and scrawny, his blue shirt practically hanging off him. This struck Swift as odd— Had they welcomed any new recruits recently?— but then, he supposed, he had pushed for the updated uniforms. He’d hoped the more casual dress-code would put civilians at ease whenever they saw Targent.

Swift tried to appear relaxed as the agent informed him there was a ‘visitor’ waiting for him in his office. (The fact that he hadn’t been given a name indicated it was someone from _outside _of Targent.) Swift thanked him and went to meet this visitor.

Swfit’s office was tucked away in the upper level of the tower, near the Azran Pillar. The visitor, whoever they were, wouldn’t find anything incriminating in Targent’s headquarters. Grouse had made sure of that months ago before the police raid.

Still, Swift stiffened when he saw the balding beanpole of a man standing beside his desk. With his height, the office seemed ten times smaller than it already was. 

The man was wearing a crisp black suit and black sunglasses. Not affiliated with Targent, but he clearly valued the same anonymity.

A red file was sat in front of him on Swift’s desk.

“Mr. Swift,” the stranger said formally, “current commander of Targent?” His accent suggested he came from Mexico. His skin-tone furthered this suspicion— but who was Swift to judge by one’s appearance?

Swift nodded; it felt like he was baring his neck. “That’s me. And who might you be?” The better question—_ who sent you?_

“My colleagues call me… Almundo,” he replied, his short moustache twitching slightly. “Quite a humorous codename, isn’t it?” When this was met with silence from Swift, Almundo went on, “You’re probably wondering why I am here. There’s no need to be alarmed; I’ve merely come to ask some questions.”

He couldn’t be with the police… A private investigator, perhaps? A self-proclaimed sleuth like Layton? 

“I’ll gladly answer them, if I’m able to,” Swift said evenly.

“Thank you.” Almundo cleared his throat. “But first, may we have a drink?”

“Of course… Water, or something stronger?” (The tower basement, once a prison, was now used as a wine cellar.)

“Water will be fine.”

Swift’s office didn’t contain a water cooler, so he pulled out his walkie-talkie and contacted Gannet. Within five minutes, there was a knock at the door.

Swift opened it to find a pitcher of water and two glasses on the threshold. He glared up and down the hall. Whoever had made the delivery had run off like an impish child ringing their neighbour’s doorbell. (Swift would be having _words _later during the staff meeting.)

Swift shut the door, filled both glasses on the desk and passed one to Almundo. He watched as Almundo took a drink first.

“So,” Swift started, “how can I help?”

Almundo placed his glass carefully on the desk and opened the file. “I’m searching for someone…”

Swift hummed. Since Bronev’s arrest, every unwilling Targent worker had been set free with no strings attached. Had one of these workers disclosed Targent’s crimes?

From the file, Almundo revealed a photo of a slim woman with short bronze hair. She was pouting— unprofessional for what appeared to be an ID card photo.

Almundo said, “Toni Hill, _née _Ayers.” He waited for Swift to react.

Neither Toni’s face nor her name rang a bell for Swift, thankfully. If she was some archaeologist’s wife, Swift certainly hadn’t sent any assassins after her. Maybe she was one of Bronev’s victims.

“Forty-years-old, a cartographer from London,” Almundo continued, pointlessly trying to stir Swift’s memory. “She has been missing for a month.”

Swift adjusted his glasses. “Where was she last seen?”

“The Infinite Vault of Akbadain, the Azran site previously controlled by Targent—“

“All of our military personnel were ordered to leave the site,” Swift interrupted.

“And yet,” Almundo pointed out, “a dozen of your agents remain there…”

Swift corrected him, “Our most trusted _archaeologists _remain with the sole intent of studying the Infinite Vault.”

Almundo raised a dark eyebrow. “Can you guarantee that _all _of their intentions are pure? How would they respond if an outsider stumbled upon the Vault’s secrets?”

“They have _nothing _to do with Mrs Hill’s disappearance,” Swift vowed. He would have known if they had and he would have removed the perpetrators himself. “Targent works in the pursuit of knowledge, not _power.”_

They believed the Infinite Vault had been a safe haven for the Azran, not a weapon.

“I hope your agents share that sentiment,” Almundo muttered. He finished his water before he removed something else from the file.

It was a newspaper clipping with the headline,_ ‘Akbadain Conquered At Last!’_The subsequent article detailed how three archaeology graduates had tackled the Akbadain ruins in the hopes of finding the missing Randall Ascot. Instead, they had collected a mountain of gold.

At the bottom of the article was a black and white photo of three young adults. Toni was in the middle, her arm around a beaming black-haired woman’s waist. And on Toni’s left side…

An unkempt man wearing a leather jacket. By all outwards appearances, he seemed to be a healthy (if grubby) explorer, but his eyes… 

Swift had seen those eyes before— grey and dull as lead.

_It couldn’t be…_

Hoping to conceal his unease, Swift took a sip from his glass.

Almundo glanced at Swift and then at the newspaper clipping.

“There are lots of ruins connected to Akbadain... I find it confusing,” Almundo said conversationally. He pointed at the article. “These particular ruins are near a town called Stansbury, correct?”

Swift nodded. He had visited Stansbury a few times in the past to check on the Layton family and the… archeological sites there. “It’s nothing more than a ghost town now,” he said.

“That would be due to the accidents at Akbadain?” Almundo inferred.

Accidents, _plural. _That wasn’t a slip of the tongue. He knew Randall Ascot wasn’t the only one.

Swift drained his drink. 

“Fortunately, Randall Ascot was found alive and he is now living in Monte d’Or,” Alumundo said. “But what of the boy before him?”

Something clenched in Swift’s stomach, but he maintained his composure. He set his glass on the desk.

“Targent was not responsible for either of those accidents,” he said firmly.

“I’m not here to assign blame.” Almundo raised his hands. “I just need to confirm _who _was involved.”

_“I _was part of a group that went to explore Akbadain twenty-five years ago,” Swift admitted. It felt like he was treading over hot coals. “Most of us were from Targent, but there were some volunteers from Stansbury who accompanied us.”

_Two boys, barely seventeen, believing they could beat the ruins._

Swift had laughed when he first laid eyes on them.

Now, he shuddered at the memory.

“There was a… cave in at the ruins. We were caught completely unaware.”

Back then, Targent could hardly be called an _agency. _They had lacked the numbers and resources of today. They hadn’t been anywhere near prepared to face the ancient ruins and the might of the Azran. After that disaster, Targent had deemed the ruins a lost cause. 

“Did the boy survive?” Almundo asked.

_One _had.

_Ryan Redoll, sleek blonde hair matted with blood, bent over the crumpled body of his companion. _

Swift had been the one to haul Ryan away, despite his howls of lament. 

_“No— let me go! Let me help him! Thee! THEE…!” _

The blank grey eyes of Ryan’s friend should have remained in Akbadain.

Still shaking, Swift gipped the edge of the desk.

“Did _Ryan Redoll s_urvive?” Almundo stressed.

“Yes,” Swift confirmed, surprised. “But he was shell-shocked for weeks afterwards. He couldn’t bare to go home, so Targent took him in.”

More specifically, _Swift _had taken him in— taught him everything he could about the Azran. 

Almundo looked around the office. “Do you know where he is now?”

Swift shook his head. The room seemed to tilt. “Died in an… airship explosion… ” (Swift no longer believed _that _had been an accident.)

“You’re _certain?”_

_“_We have f-footage…” Swift gazed into his empty glass, gritting his teeth. His stomach was cramping. He was struggling to breathe.

Hadn’t Almundo drunk from the same bottle? And yet, he seemed unaffected…

“I’ll show you,” Swift gasped. _He had to ask Gannet where that water had come from._

As short as the office was, it still took all of Swift’s strength to stumble to the door. He twisted the doorknob. 

_Locked._ Swift felt the colour drain from his face.

Without turning back, Swift breathed, “What was in that drink?”

“A poison not unlike the one Targent administered to _child _cadets,” Almundo said coldly. “Painful, isn’t it?’

If the substance had settled at the bottom of the bottle, that might explain why Swift was feeling the brunt of it. To think, Targent cadets—_children _had been put through this…

“I was— never aware of that.” Swfit reeled around. He yanked off his glasses so Almundo could see the pain and the honesty in his eyes. “_I _would never…”

He had never hurt Ryan. He hadn’t trained him with the same severity Bronev reserved for Emmeline.

The day Ryan died, Swift had bolted himself in his office with orders that he was not to be disturbed.

“Tell me who is at fault. I’ll have them punished,” Swift offered. It was almost a plea.

“Tell me the _truth,” _Almundo countered, “and I’ll give you the antidote—”

_“What m-more do you want…?” _Swift wound his arms around his stomach, doubling over. He was too weak to fight. Too weak to even shout for help. He was going to die here.

With Almundo’s word against them, Targent would never recover from its sullied reputation. They would never be worthy—

_Thy… Thee… Short for Thierry!_

_“Thierry,” _Swift burst out. “Ryan’s friend— the one who died at Akbadain— his name was _Thierry!”_

For the first time in their conversation, Almundo looked stricken. Brow furrowed, he whipped out the newspaper article again. He stabbed a finger at the figure standing to the left of Toni. _“This _man? _Thierry Sardou?” _

Frantically, Swift nodded. “Yes, I’m sure that’s him—“

_“No manches…” _Almundo mumbled in Spanish. He collected the contents of the file and shot to his feet. “Forgive me, Mr. Swift, I believe I’ve made a terrible oversight.”

“W-what?” Swift stammered, still writhing in pain from the poison.

Almundo strode past him and pounded on the door five times in a precise rhythm.

Outside, Swift heard footsteps, and the door opening. 

“Please…” Swift groaned. “The antidote?”

“I never said the poison was _fatal_,” Almundo informed him, before he dashed out of Swift’s office.

He _wasn’t_ going to die?

Swift struggled to sit up. His body screamed in protest, but he managed to clamber to his feet. Hand pressed against his stomach, he staggered to the medical office. 

If Thierry Sardou had somehow crawled out of Akbadain, then Swift could survive this. 

He would be a better man because of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thank you to @AnikaKat for giving me the suggestion for Swift whump on Tumblr. I'm sorry this took a while to write and I'm sorry this contains quite a bit of personal headcanons and OCs. I finally got writing and just rolled with it. Ryan Redoll is meant to be Angela's missing brother, who might be featuring in an upcoming fic.


	22. Hallucination (Ernest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'He froze. The flower fell from his hand. His gaze was fixed on the woman in white before him.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hallucination, referenced minor character death... Honestly, nothing worse that what's shown in Layton's Mystery Journey.  
Spoilers: For Layton's Mystery Journey and implications for the second episode the Layton Anime, 'Katrielle and the Diabolical Dress'.  
Set: AU for a certain scene from this episode.  
Song: Waving Through a Window from Dear Evan Hansen.

“This flower!” Ernest exclaimed, stooping to inspect the bush of white flowers. They rather resembled dandelion clocks— perhaps they were an undiscovered part of the Taraxacum genus? 

“Ooh, they’re pretty…” Katrielle reached for one of the flowers.

Ernest pulled her hand away. “W-wait, Miss Layton! They might be_ poisonous!” _

Katrielle lifted an eyebrow at their linked hands. 

Sherl scoffed, _“Drama queen…”_

Ernest could feel his face turning red. He released Katrielle’s hand, ripped the backpack off his shoulders and retrieved a blue handkerchief from inside. “B-better safe than sorry…” 

Using the handkerchief, he picked up one of the flowers by the stem. (If they preserved it, they could take it to Dr Ohm’s laboratory…) 

“Let’s see it!” Kat leapt at him with her magnifying glass. 

“Careful, Miss Layton…!” Ernest backed away, bringing the flower closer to his face. His eyes widened. “It looks like…” 

He heard footsteps crunching in the grass. He gasped, “There’s someone… _over there!”_

A figure had stumbled behind the house. Ernest ran after them, ignoring Katrielle and Sherls’ confused shouts.

He froze. The flower and the handkerchief fell out of his grip. His gaze was fixed on the woman before him. Her hair, the colour of faded heathers, was curled above the frilly collar of her threadbare white dress.

She was slightly hunched over, leaning against the house’s ivy-coated wall for support.

_“M-Mama…!” _Ernest whimpered.

It wasn’t possible. She had… Ernest had _watched her…_

She took a feeble step away from him.

“Stay with me, Mama!” Ernest begged, raising his hands as he followed her. “I’ll look after you! I… I don’t have much money yet, but I have a job and… and…!”

His hands clenched into painful fists. “I _know _who stole everything from us— the _Dragons_! I’ve been investigating them during my cases with Miss Layton. Every last one of them is going to _pay _for what they’ve done to our f-family!”

He scrubbed the tears from his eyes. He needed to be _strong_—

_“Ernest?”_

Ernest’s eyes flew open. “M-Miss Layton!” He looked back at her. How long had she been…?

She was frowning. _“Who_ were you talking to?”

Ernest glanced ahead of him again. The vision of his mama had vanished. He swallowed and admitted, “I thought I saw my ma… mother.”

“Your…_ mother?” _Katrielle whispered. She edged towards him. There was an uncharacteristic wariness to her movements. No, _he _was the one who was acting out of character…

Katrielle was still holding her magnifying glass, but now it looked as if she was trying to ward him off. 

How much had she _heard?_

Ernest pressed his back against the wall, giving her plenty of space. He would _never _do anything to hurt Miss Layton. It was true that she had brought him closer to the Dragons— closer to his revenge— but his devotion to her was absolute.

She had saved him when the rest of the world seemed to be against him.

Katrielle crouched down to examine the flower he had dropped.

The_ flower…!_

_“KAAAT!”_

_“Sherl?”_ Katrielle turned at the sound of Sherl’s howl. (Good, Ernest hadn’t imagined it…)

Sherl was scrambling over an old red brick wall. Behind him was an elderly woman with a pointy nose.

“What are you doing in my garden?” the woman demanded.


	23. Bleeding Out (Randall & Hershel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Major character death, grief and blood loss  
Spoilers: For Miracle Mask  
Set: Yet another AU, set during the Stansbury flashbacks  
Song: Youth by Daughter

“There's  _ Randall!"  _

Angela bounds down the slope to meet him. Her smile of relief is brighter than the setting sun. She looks so beautiful, so  _ radiant_, that Randall is blindsided for a moment. 

She embraces him and he lets himself bask in her joy. 

_He's back. He's made it home, just like he promised, and he's never leaving her again. He'll buy that opal ring and propose to her at their picnic.  
_

_His father can't stop them; as soon as they both turn eighteen, they'll tie the knot for good. Stansbury or London— church or Hyde Park— anywhere as long as she's happy. _

_Mary will most likely be the maid of honour. Henry has already declined to be best man, so that leaves Hershel. _

_ Randall pictures Hershel in a black suit; waistcoat, shirt and tie. Neat as a pin, expect for his hair. He stands next to Randall at the end of the ailse. But something's wrong —  he keeps pulling at his shirt collar... _

Angela pulls back from Randall, still smiling. "Did you find the treasure?" she gushes. "Don't tell me you left Hershel to carry it all back..." She glances over Randall's shoulder, fully expecting Hershel to stagger up the road with a mountain of gold.

“I left him," Randall mumbles. 

Angela looks back at Randall in confusion. 

"Master Randall...?" By this point, Henry has also reached his side. 

_Hershel is by his side, dressed in black, but a drop of red stains his collar.   
_

“I hadto leave him," Randall croaks. His voice is raw, like it's been ripped out of him.

“Why?"  Angela gasps. She lets go of Randall. Both she and Henry stare at him. 

“At the ruins— there were mechanical guardians—  mummies," Randall stammers, wishing he was making this up. He would gladly spend the rest of his life in a madhouse if Hershel could just come home. "We fought them with... with swords... " 

He and Hershel had been practicing for years. They should have won. They  _would_ have won, if Randall's sword hadn't broken— if Hersh hadn't rushed in to save him...

“Hershel's..." Randall swallows. He brings his trembling hand to his bare neck.

_Blood, seeping through Hershel's shirt..._

Randall had just sat there, screaming, as Hershel's fingers scrabbled to his throat. A sickening gurgling noise had escaped Hershel's mouth. _"Grooves...”_

By the time Randall had solved the puzzle and tried to staunch Hershel's wound with his ascot, it was too late. 

A breeze ruffles the surrounding trees and the ends of Angela's hair. Shaking her head, she steps away from Randall. "No...” She hugs her arms across her chest and almost doubles over. "I made him... for you," she sobs quietly. 

“Sorry,” Randall whimpers, wiping his eyes under his glasses. "I'm so  _ sorry ..." _

Henry touches his shoulder and murmurs, "It's not your fault, Master Randall—“

“You..." Angela suddenly lifts her head and glares at Randall through her tears. There's so much grief and blame in her gaze, that Randall knows he's lost her too. "_You_ need to tell Mr and Mrs Layton."


	24. Secret Injury (Rook & Bishop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook gets injured while he and Bishop escape from Old Red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussions of old wounds and some implied homophobia from a random unnamed character.  
Spoilers: None really… unless you’re invested in Rook and Bishop.  
Set: During Azran Legacy, in Torrido  
Song: Count On Me by Bruno Mars 

“Bishop, you ninny! Wait!”

Bishop didn’t _wait_— not while that giant wolf was after them— but he did glance over his shoulder. Rook was right behind him, clutching his cap to his head. 

The beast was baring its teeth in a roar, but it wasn’t chasing them yet. It was distracted by Professor Sycamore and his gang, who were trying to talk to the wolf._ Idiots— _they would end up as dog’s chow! And then Targent would return to take the egg!

Laughing, Bishop looked ahead of him. The mine’s entrance was in sight. That put a spring in Bishop’s step. 

Rook was running by his side. Then he wasn’t. 

_“Rook?” _Bishop skidded to a halt— inches away from freedom— and spun around. 

Rook was lying face down over the broken mine cart tacks. Bishop rushed back to him as he sat up. 

“I’m fine,” Rook grunted, though he grimaced as he clambered to his feet. _“Go.” _

Bishop didn’t need to be told twice. He tore out of the mine. Rook jogged after him. 

* * *

“What do we do now?” Bishop panted as they traipsed down the parched creek. “We’ve lost another egg— and my _gun!”_

He was _not _going back for it. The wolf could use it as a chew toy for all he cared. 

But there was no way Bishop could request a new gun from the boss. He and Rook were in enough trouble as it was. 

They would just have to _steal _a gun. Cowboys carried guns, right…?

Rook could see the cogs turning in Bishop’s brain. “Forget it,” Rook muttered. “You can have my gun...” 

Rook paused for a moment, leaning against a tall wooden signpost. He lifted his left leg and frowned at it.

“You alright?” Bishop asked.

“Just needed to catch my breath. Now _keep it down_— sheriff’s over there…”

They crept past the sheriff, who was busy bickering with an old lady. 

Rook had to rest again when they reached the edge of town.

“Your _leg!” _Bishop pointed out triumphantly. “You _tripped _back in the mine! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s_ nothing,”_ Rook gritted out. He took a determined step forward, but stumbled when he put weight on his left leg. 

Bishop caught him under his arm. Hunched over like this, Rook was the same height as Bishop for once. It might have filled Bishop with glee, if he wasn’t so concerned for Rook.

“Back in Mosinnia...” Bishop remembered. “When you were giving me stitches, you said you’d cut your leg on Ambrosia. Is that why it’s hurting now?” 

Rook shrugged his shoulders, but he currently wasn’t strong enough to shake Bishop off.

“It _is_,” said Bishop, answering his own question. “Did you ever go to see a medic about it?”

“They’d deem me unfit for work,” Rook grumbled. (Targent didn’t hand out desk jobs to blundering henchmen.) 

“If you leave it, it _will _get infected,” Bishop said. He smiled smugly as he echoed Rook’s previous warning. 

Rook sighed. “It won’t_. _The wound closed up ages ago—“

“Did it _heal_ properly?”

Rook just shifted on one leg and hung his head, like a crane with its wings clipped. 

Bishop tightened his grip around his partner. 

No. Rook wasn’t flightless. He was _Rook_— cool, clever and fiercely loyal to his flock. 

If Targent couldn’t see that, it was their loss. 

Bishop looked around the dusty main street of Torrido. Most of the townsfolk had emerged from the saloon since the wolf had stalked back up to its den. One of them had to be a doctor...

_“Howdy!” _Bishop hollered to a man pulling a brown horse past them. “Is there a doctor in this here town? My pal’s not feeling too good...”

Rook lifted his head. 

The man, who was wearing a red cowboy hat, studied Rook and Bishop with a scowl. His fists clenched around the horse’s reins.

He sneered, “You and your ‘pal’ better scram. We don’t take kindly to your type here.”

_“Our ‘type’?”_ Bishop repeated, ruffled. “I bet you’ve never even _heard _of Targent!”

“That’s not what he means,” Rook mumbled, moving out of Bishop’s arms. 

Bishop watched, fuming, as the man tied his horse’s reins to a post in front of a water trough. He stuck out his tongue as the man stomped inside the saloon. 

Bristling, Bishop turned back to Rook. “Screw this dumb town. Will your leg be okay till we can find a doctor somewhere else?

Rook slowly kicked his left leg out. “Yeah... The pain should fade in a few days.” He glanced at the horse at the water trough. “But I’m not sure if I can make it _all _the way back to the ship on foot...” He smirked. 

“I could carry you— _oh!”_ Bishop also smirked as he caught on. “Maybe we could _borrow_ this here horse?”

“Sounds good, _pardner.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asaliz, who suggested this prompt, made some awesome fanart for this scene on Tumblr! Here’s the link, if AO3 will allow me to share it: https://asa-liz.tumblr.com/tagged/Rook


	25. Ransom (Desmond & Raymond)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for the first time, Raymond needs to save his archaeology nerd son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Attempted kidnapping, concussion and an extremely worried Raymond  
Spoilers: For Azran Legacy  
Set: Desmond is 21 years old and in university. Raymond is his butler/guardian who does not get paid enough for this business.  
Song: Father and Son - Cat Stevens

Most university students would spend their summer holidays studying, working, travelling, partying, or sleeping…

Desmond was not like most students.

That may have sounded like something Desmond would say during one of his brooding sessions, but it was true.

Most students hadn’t lost their parents to the archaeology mafia, or set up an adoption and a new identity for their younger sibling.

Most weren’t taken in by their old Scottish neighbour.

Most didn’t enter their chosen subject area with an end goal of ‘getting revenge on an ancient civilisation’. (Thankfully, Desmond had omitted that detail from his university application.)

Though he definitely had a fondness for travelling— “Apologies, Master, _adventures_,”— Desmond was far more invested in the archaeological lore than the nightlife of any given location.

Case in point: Gwawryn, a sleepy town in North Wales.

According to Desmond’s research, an Azran artefact had been donated to the town’s ramshackle museum last week. It was a golden-framed tablet, said to have belonged to the Azran sages.

Desmond had visited the museum in the day with Raymond (during _opening hours_) to confirm whether the tablet was authentic. And now, at one am, Desmond was busy stealing the tablet.

Much to Raymond’s relief, Desmond hadn’t asked for his help with the heist. Raymond was content to wait at the inn where they were staying. He had shown his face to the inn keeper half an hour ago and requested some honey and lemon tea for his poor ‘son’ who was stuck in bed with a cold. (“He’s not used to this Welsh weather,” Raymond had joked.)

The honey and lemon tea had been sitting untouched on Raymond’s bedside table for three hours.

_Where was Desmond? _

Raymond checked the chiming clock on the wall. Earlier, when he was preparing for his heist, Desmond had threatened to throw the clock out the window. Raymond had found its chimes comforting… but with each passing minute, he was starting to agree with Desmond.

_Shouldn’t he be back by now? _

If Desmond had gotten caught by the police, surely they would have contacted Raymond. Raymond would have to go to the police station to confirm, “_Aye, that’s my bampot son who’s supposed to be in bed!”_, and back up any excuses Desmond had concocted for breaking into the museum.

Raymond would almost find it reassuring if Desmond had been arrested. Maybe he would finally give this Azran nonsense a rest…

Another thirty minutes crawled by— still no Desmond.

_Right, then… _

Praying the inn keeper had already gone to sleep, Raymond tied their bedsheets together and shimmed out the window. (Next time, they were booking a room on the _ground floor_.)

It was only a fifteen-minute sprint to the museum. Raymond made sure he kept to the shadows and ducked under any windows. The last thing he needed was to be spotted while he was searching for Desmond.

The museum’s lights were out— most likely the police weren’t there, then. As far as Raymond could see, no one had broken in through the entrance or the front windows.

Had Desmond entered through a back door?

The museum’s entrance faced the main road, but it backed out on to a quiet country lane.

Raymond crept behind the building, crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t encounter any of the museum staff.

He hadn’t seen any security guards present during the day (if the museum could even afford to pay for security), but the curator had seemed extremely proud of his new Azran exhibit and kept ordering his assistant to polish its glass casing—

“Alright, get him inside,” someone ordered.

The voice was low— almost lazy— but it made Raymond freeze. He pressed his body against the side of the museum and peeped his head around the back.

Through the headlights of a dark car, Raymond was able to distinguish two figures in blue uniforms and black glasses.

Those weren’t the police.

One Targent agent, a man with grey hair and a slim build, was holding the golden-edged Azran tablet.

The second agent was taller— at least six feet— and he was wearing a pointed blue cap. An unconscious Desmond was slung over his shoulder.

The car’s back doors were open.

Raymond tensed. Fight or flight— how should he respond? _Fight to defend Desmond. Flight to escape with Desmond. Or…_ Perhaps this was a trick. Desmond would stir at any second now and steal the tablet…

The taller agent threw Desmond into the back of the car. Desmond didn’t wake up. _Why wasn’t he waking up? _

Before they could shut the car door and disappear with Desmond forever, Raymond shouted, _“Wait!” _

The agents turned as he rushed out from behind the museum, panting, “Please, wait. That’s my… my son you’ve got there.”

The man holding the tablet scratched his long chin. He glanced from Desmond to Raymond. (Would he notice the lack of a family resemblance?)

“Who are you?” he asked casually, as if kidnapping archaeology students was a common occurrence.

Raymond swallowed, stalling for a minute as he regained his composure. Then he replied, “My name is Alaric Riddock.” His mother’s maiden name— bless her soul.

The man gestured to Desmond, who was still slumped inside the car. “And this is…?”

“Jack Riddock,” Raymond said. He raised his eyebrows, playing dumb. “Who are you two?”

“That’s classified,” the taller agent snapped.

“_Manners, _Cass,” the agent with the tablet rebuked. (It was clear who was in charge here.) He smiled at Raymond… or tried to smile— it was hard to tell with that extended chin of his.

“We work for Targent— an organisation tasked with preserving ancient artefacts,” Mr. Chin explained, lifting the Azran tablet to his chest. “Have you heard of us, by any chance?”

Raymond shook his head.

“What are your professions?”

“Farmers,” Raymond said. He had been a doctor, years ago, but Targent didn’t need to know that.

Raymond looked over at Desmond again, expecting him to protest at being called a bumpkin farmer. But Desmond’s eyes remained closed. (Hopefully Targent hadn’t recognised his eyes…)

The taller agent, ‘Cass’, scoffed. “_Both_ of you?”

Raymond nodded. “Runs in the family.”

“I see…” said Mr. Chin, unimpressed. (Targent weren’t interested in recruiting farmers.) Mr. Chin wondered, “What brings you two to Gwa… _Gwa-ryn_…?” If he couldn’t wrap his tongue around the Welsh name, then he couldn’t be from the local area.

“_Gwawryn?_” Raymond pronounced.

“That’s it! What brings you here?”

“Shouldn’t you be out collecting _corn_?” Cass sneered.

Raymond shrugged. “Break for the summer… and for the wife.”

Mr. Chin hummed. “And what was _Jack _doing at the museum so late at night?”

Raymond sighed. “Don’t tell me— did he try to pinch something?”

“Indeed,” Mr. Chin confirmed. His hold on the tablet tightened. “He tried to ‘pinch’ this priceless artefact. It’s lucky we caught him…”

Raymond frowned at Desmond— How much force had they used to ‘catch’ him?— and tutted loudly. “Please forgive my boy. He has a history of shoplifting…” (Would Targent find that too appealing?) “…But the police always catch him in the end. It’s like he wants to be caught! He’s got a good heart, deep down—“

“Well, then,” Mr. Chin interrupted, “we’ll be sure to put him on the right path.”

He nodded to Cass. Cass got into the front of the car and started the engine.

Raymond’s eyes widened. “_Please_,” he breathed, “release my son. He’s only _nineteen…” _

Twenty-one, actually, but Desmond looked young for his age. Raymond often had to remind himself of that.

“Then he should learn quickly,” Mr. Chin chuckled. He slipped into the back seat next to Desmond.

Desmond still had his whole life ahead of him. Targent wanted to take that away.

Not on Raymond’s watch.

Raymond dived into the car as Mr. Chin reached for the back door handle. Chin grunted and moved to block him from grabbing Desmond.

Raymond grabbed the Azran tablet from his hands. He slammed it into Mr. Chin’s face. The tablet shattered.

Cass was shouting from the front of the car. He turned around in the driver’s seat and tried to climb into the back, but he was too tall.

While he was stuck and Chin was still dazed, Raymond dragged Desmond out of the car. He hauled Desmond onto his back and ran past the museum.

The two agents howled with rage. Neither of them had expected to be beaten by a blathering old farmer. 

* * *

“_Ray…mond?”_ Desmond mumbled when finally he came to, back at the inn. “What happened?” He squinted at Raymond and struggled to sit up in bed.

Raymond gently pushed him back down. “You received a blow to the head… and most likely, a concussion.”

Desmond winced when his head touched the pillow. He hissed, “_What?” _

“Don’t worry about it now—“

“Tell me!”

“_Shush!”_ Raymond glanced at the door.

Desmond huffed, “It’s just the inn keeper—“

“No, it’s _Targent_,” Raymond whispered furiously, glaring back at Desmond. “They attacked you at the museum and they then tried to _abduct_ you.”

Desmond’s face went even more pale. His fists gripped the bedsheets. “Was that… because I had the Azran tablet?”

“Let’s _hope_ so, and not—“

“Where’s the tablet?” Desmond gasped. “Don’t tell me _they_ got it?”

Only Desmond would be more concerned with an Azran treasure than his own safety. “They _did_,” Raymond said, “but I think I destroyed it when I rescued you.”

Desmond lay there in silence, staring at Raymond. All of his scheming had been for nothing. The Azran tablet had been reduced to splinters now. _Good riddance,_ if you asked Raymond.

He was startled when Desmond released a small laugh.

“Thanks, Raymond. Better that then letting them keep it…” His laugh morphed into a pained moan. He rubbed his head.

“As soon as it’s light out, I’m taking you to the _hospital_,” Raymond vowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s OC Targent agents are: Shoebill and Cassowary. Inspired by the world’s creepiest looking bird and what is often considered the most dangerous bird!
> 
> ...Well, it’s October 2020 and I haven’t finished last year’s prompts. Sorry about that, but I think 2020 has given enough chaos as it is. I may go back and write for some of the remaining prompts if I feel like it or if there are any suggestions?
> 
> Here are the remaining prompts:  
Humiliation  
Abandoned  
Beaten  
Numb  
Recovery  
Embrace 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my Whumptober fics!


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